X 


library 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


“ Mrs  Hilton  then  led  the  way  to  the  kitchen  where  the  old  people 
sat  by  the  fire.”— Page  148. 


A 


LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


AUTHOR  OF  “ EDITII  VERNON’S  LIFE-WORK,”  “ HARRY'S  BATTLES,” 
“ WINIFRED  LEIGH,”  &C.,  &C. 


“And  there  be  none  of  all  the  poorest  poor 
That  walk  the  world,  worn  heart-bare,  none  so  poor 
But  they  may  bring  a little  human  love 
To  mend  the  world.  And  God  himself  is  love.” 


NEW  YORK : 

POTT  AND  A MERY, 

COOPER  UNION,  FOURTH  AVENUE, 


F, 


■Gerald  Massey. 


Hi 

mi 


fi 

* K 

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>> 


CONTENTS. 


i 


3?art  I. — Tost. 


CHAPTER  I. 


bo 

fO 


4 

«x 


FORSAKEN, 


CHAPTER  II. 

nan’s  first  glimpse  of  workhouse  life, 


CHAPTER  III. 


NAN  S FIRST  PLACE, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PETER  BURKE’S  VALENTINE, 

CHAPTER  V. 

WHAT  NAN  DID  ON  HER  FIRST  “ SUNDAY  OUT,’ 


PAGE 

1 


15 


25 


34 


1 04E 


42 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PAGE 

THE  WREATH  OF  ROSES,  . . . . . 52 

CHAPTER  VII. 

TURNED  OUT  OF  DOORS,  . ...  63 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THIS  HOUSE  TO  LET,  . . . ■ 72 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  WORKHOUSE  AGAIN,  ....  84 


Fart  II. — FxmaxL 

CHAPTER  X. 

MARY  HILTON,  THE  NEW  WARDER,  ...  97 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  WRECK,  . . . .106 

CHAPTER  XII. 

amelia’s  offer,  . . . . . .115 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

JOY  FOR  MARY  HILTON,  . . . . .124 


CONTENTS.  v 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

PAGE 

nan’s  second  place,  . . . . .136 

CHAPTER  XV. 

TOO  CLEAN  A HOME,  . . . . .152 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

BY  NIGHT  ON  THE  BRIDGE,  . . . .162 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

FIRST  STEPS  IN  TRUTH  AND  HONESTY,  . . .173 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

bessie’s  friend,  . . . . . .184 

CHAPTER  XIX. 


FOUND  AT  LAST, 


195 


Yf;/  fit!  1 1 

;i ; •, (i  YWdfli'.tr 


PART  I. 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


— m*— 


CHAPTER  I. 

JfargaJmT. 


The  winds  are  bitter  ; the  skies  are  wild  ; 

From  the  rcof  comes  plunging  the  drowning  rain. 
Without,  in  tatters,  the  world’s  poor  child 
Sobbeth  aloud  her  grief,  her  pain  ! 

No  one  heareth  her  ; no  one  heedeth  her ! 

But  Hunger,  her  friend,  with  his  cold,  gaunt  hand, 
Grasps  her  throat,  whispering  huskily, 

‘ What  dost  thou  in  a Christian  land  ?’  ” 

—Barry  Cornwall. 

NDER  an  archway  which  covered  the  en- 
trance to  a small  court  that  turned  out 
of  one  of  the  great  London  thoroughfares, 
two  or  three  people  had  taken  shelter,  one 
evening,  from  a shower  that  was  “ too  heavy  to 
last.”  A workman  was  reading  a letter  by  the 
light  of  a gas-lamp,  and  two  women  were  groping 
on  the  ground  for  something  they  had  dropped. 


o “It's  rolled  away  into  some  dark  corner,  and 

fyou  ’ll  never  see  it  again,”  said  one.  “ I think 
I shall ; it ’s  a good  bit  of  silver,  and  I can’t 

A 


2 A LOST  PIECE  OF  SIL  VER . 

afford  to  lose  it,”  replied  the  other,  and  went  on  with 
the  search. 

“ It ’s  lost  in  the  mud  by  this  time,”  said  the  first 
speaker;  but  the  woman  who  had  lost  the  money  only 
bent  closer  to  the  ground,  and  searched  in  the  darkness 
more  intently. 

A moment  or  two  afterwards,  she  held  up  the  coin 
with  a glad  cry,  “I  said  so,  here  it  is.  I just  caught 
a sparkle  of  it  there  by  the  gutter.  See,”  she  added, 
rubbing  it  in  her  shawl,  “ it ’s  all  bright  now,  and  it ’s 
good  money.” 

The  man  had  folded  up  his  letter,  and  now  turned 
to  the  women.  “ Can  you  tell  me  if  this  is  Grove 
Buildings  fl  ” he  asked,  pointing  to  the  court. 

“ You  ’re  quite  right ; them ’s  the  Buildings  straight 
before  you.  Come,  ’Liza,  now  I ’ve  found  the  money, 
I can’t  waste  no  more  time,”  and  they  hurried  away. 
The  man  looked  out  from  the  shelter  of  the  archway 
and  saw  that  the  heavy  rain  was  over;  then  he  but- 
toned up  his  coat,  pulled  his  hat  down  more  firmly 
over  his  eyes,  and  entered  the  court. 

“No.  4,”  he  said  to  himself;  “the  numbers  go  this 
way.  Ah  ! here  it  is,”  and  he  stepped  across  a large 
pool  of  rain-water,  mud,  potato-parings,  and  dirt,  and 
knocked  at  the  door. 

The  first  knock  was  not  answered,  but  at  the  second 
he  heard  a child’s  voice  saying,  “ Come  in,”  and  then 
the  door  was  half  opened,  and  by  the  light  from  the 


FORSAKEN. 


solitary  gas-lamp  which  lit  the  Buildings,  he  saw  a little 
girl  peering  out  at  him.  Her  face  was  very  dirty,  very 
ugly,  and  very  pale,  and  she  held  the  door  open 
cautiously  and  peeped  at  the  new-comer. 

“ What  do  you  want  ? ” she  said. 
u Is  your  name  Downing  V’ 

“ Yes.” 

“ Is  your  father  in  h ” 

“ Father ’s  dead.” 

“ Dead  I ” The  man’s  face  became  almost  as  white 
as  the  child’s. 

“ Yes ; the  parish  took  him  away  this  morning.” 

“ Poor  Joe  ! poor  Joe  ! Let  me  in,  child,  I ’m  your 
uncle ; ” and  the  man  pushed  his  way  into  the  house. 

The  room  with  no  fire,  and  lit  only  with  a small  piece 
of  candle  given  by  the  charity  of  the  neighbours,  was 
not  inviting.  There  was  the  empty  space  where  the 
coffin  had  stood  the  night  before  ; there  was  the  heap 
of  clothes  on  the  floor, — the  clothes  which  the  dead 
man  had  worn  such  a little  time  ago,  and  which  had 
grown  shabbier  and  shabbier  in  the  wear  and  tear  of 
life,  till  there  was  scarcely  a rag  of  them  left  together  ; 
there  was  the  one  chair,  the  wretched  bed,  the  broken- 
down  table,  and  the  empty  grate,  which  told  their  own 
story  of  want  and  sorrow  ; and  there,  in  the  midst 
of  it  all,  was  the  child,  with  the  story  of  want  and 
sorrow  told  over  again  in  her  face.  She  stood  by  the 
table  on  one  leg,  with  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  looking 


4 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


at  her  uncle,  who  had  sat  down  on  the  chair  and  put  his 
hands  over  his  face. 

“ Father  died  three  days  ago  ; he  had  been  ill  an 
awful  long  time,”  she  said  at  last. 

Her  uncle  looked  up.  “ How  many  are  there  of 
you  ? ” 

“ There ’s  Joey  and  me,  that ’s  all.” 

“ And  a good  thing  too  ! Where  ’s  your  mother?  ” 
“ Mother  !”  The  child  almost  laughed  at  a man  who 
said  he  was  a near  relation,  knowing  so  little  about  them. 
“ Mother ! why  mother’s  been  dead  these  five  years.” 

“ How  old  is  Joey,  and  where  is  he  ? ” 

“ He  ’s  down  at  Mrs  Blake’s ; she  said  she  d give 
him  a bit  of  summat  down  there.” 

“ How  old  is  he  ? ” 

“ He ’s  seven.” 

“ And  how  old  are  you,  and  what ’s  your  name  ? ” 

“ My  name  is  Han.  I think  I ’m  thirteen,  but  I 
don’t  know.” 

“Your  father  was  in  the  costermonger  line,  wasn’t 
he?” 

“ Ay,  he  sold  oranges  and  nuts  in  winter,  and  fruit 
and  cabbages  in  summer,  and  Joey  used  to  run  along 
with  the  barrow.” 

“ And  what  did  he  die  of  ? ” 

“I  don’t  know;  he  was  too  ill  to  go  on  living,  I 
s’pose.” 

“ Did  you  have  the  doctor  to  him  ? ” 


FORSAKEN. 


5 


“ Ay,  the  parish-doctor  came  ever  so  many  times, 
but  he  said  ‘he  was  galloping/  I don’t  know  what  he 
meant,  I ’m  sure,  for  father  lay  there  as  quiet  as  could 
be.” 

“I’m  your  uncle,  Nan ; your  poor  father  and  me 
were  brothers.”  The  man’s  voice  shook  a little  as  he 
said  the  words,  for  his  thoughts  had  gone  back  to  the 
old  home  and  the  days  when  he  and  poor  Joe  had  run 
to  school  together,  and  though,  in  the  great  race  of 
life,  the  brothers  had  parted  long  ago,  and  had  known 
little  or  nothing  of  each  other  lately,  the  old  ties,  after 
all,  are  the  strongest,  and  “ brothers  are  brothers  ever- 
more.” 

“ I got  a letter  from  some  one  down  here,  the  other 
day,  telling  me  he  was  bad,  and  so  I came  the  first  bit 
of  time  I had  to  spare.  The  letter  was  two  or  three 
days  following  me  about  before  it  reached  me,  for  I ’d 
moved  to  a place  or  two  since  your  father  saw  me. 
Have  you  any  money,  child  ? ” 

“No!” 

“Well,  here ; take  this,  and  run  and  get  some  fire,  a 
loaf  of  bread,  and  some  tea,  for  I can  tell  you  I want  it.” 

Nan  looked  in  astonishment  at  the  silver  which  was 
held  out  to  her,  but  the  thought  of  something  to  eat 
quickened  her  footsteps,  and  almost  before  her  uncle 
could  look  round,  she  had  run  out  at  the  door,  and  he 
could  hear  the  patter  of  her  slip-shod  feet  down  the 
sloppy  flags  of  the  court. 


6 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“ She  don’t  look  much  of  it,”  he  said  to  himself. 
“I  wonder  what  the  boy  is  like.”  He  was  not  left 
long  to  wonder,  for,  in  a minute  or  two,  the  door 
was  opened,  and  a woman,  with  a baby  in  her  arms, 
pushed  a little  curly-haired  boy  into  the  room  before 
her.  She  half  drew  back,  as  she  caught  sight  of  a 
stranger;  but  on  second  thoughts  came  on  into  the 
room. 

Nan’s  uncle  rose,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the  little 
boy.  “ Are  you  Joey  V9  he  asked. 

“ Yes  ! ” said  the  boy,  wonderingly. 

“Well,  I'm  your  uncle,  Paul  Downing;  and  . . . . 
and  ....  this  is  very  shocking  about  my  poor 
brother/’  he  said,  looking  up  at  the  woman. 

“ Indeed,  it  is.  He  suffered  frightful,”  said  the 
woman,  who  was  one  of  those  kind,  neighbourly  people, 
so  often  to  be  found  in  times  of  need,  doing  their  work 
of  love  very  quietly,  looking  for  no  reward  from  any 
one;  simply  giving  as  a reason  for  their  kindness, 
that  they  did  a good  turn  for  people  because  they  could 
not  help  it. 

God  knows  them,  these  quiet  helpful  women,  though 
we  may  not ; and  in  the  day  when  He  takes  account  of 
His  servants,  we  may  find  that  they  have  really  been 
doing  His  work,  while  we  have  been  dreaming  how  it 
might  be  done. 

“ I was  with  him  at  the  last,”  she  went  on,  “ and  he 
kept  always  hoping  you ’d  come  ; I ’m  sure  he  wanted  to 


FORSAKEN. 


7 


say  something  to  you  about  the  children.  He  wouldn’t 
have  gone  so  fast,  as  Bill  says,  but  that  he  ’d  lived 
on  drink  lately.  He  never  seemed  the  same  after  his 
poor  wife  died,  and  she  was  a real  good  one ; but  he 
wasn’t  so  much  of  it ; and  many  a hard  time  those 
children  have  had,”  she  added,  in  a lower  tone. 

“Come  here,  Joey,”  said  Paul  Downing. 

The  little  curly-haired  boy  came  across  to  him, 
and  lifted  a pair  of  bright  clear  eyes  to  look  at  his 
uncle.  His  face  was  very  different  from  Nan’s,  though 
there  was  the  same  sharpening  of  trouble  and  hunger 
in  it. 

“ What ’s  to  become  of  them  ] ” said  Mrs  Blake,  who 
felt  that  the  children  were  somewhat  in  her  charge. 
“ Bill  said,  they ’d  have  to  go  to  the  workhouse  to- 
morrow, if  no  one  came  to  look  after  them.” 

“ Ay,  very  true,”  said  the  man ; “ and  so  they  must, 
I s’pose.” 

“ I asked  Bill  if  he  wouldn’t  let  me  take  this  one,” 
went  on  the  good-natured  woman  : “I  wouldn’t  ha’ 
minded  this  little  one;  but  I wouldn’t  have  Nan  ! ” 

“ I don’t  like  the  looks  of  her  specially,”  said  Paul 
Downing. 

“ I don’t  think  she ’s  a bad  girl,  though  she ’s  a bit 
wild  maybe  ; but  Joey ’s  as  good  and  as  quiet  a little 
lad  as  could  be  : he ’s  minded  the  baby  many  a time 
for  me.” 

“ I wonder  what  my  missus  would  say  if  I took  the 


8 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER, 


boy  home,”  said  the  uncle,  thinking.  “ It  seems  only 
right  by  poor  Joe,  though  he  never  did  right  by  him- 
self.’’ 

At  this  moment  Nan  came  in  again,  with  the  coal  in 
her  pinafore,  and  a loaf  of  bread  under  her  arm.  Her 
dress  had  become  even  dirtier  than  it  was  before,  from 
being  splashed  by  the  pools  of  muddy  water,  her  damp 
hair  clung  about  her  white  face,  and  the  rain-drops 
had  made  channels  down  her  dirty  cheeks. 

“ I say,  Joey,  get  out  of  the  way  there,”  she  said, 
knocking  the  little  boy  fiercely  to  one  side,  as  she 
bustled  up  to  the  grate  and  emptied  her  burden  into  it, 
never  noticing  that  she  had  pushed  Joey  against  the 
table,  and  made  him  cry. 

“ There,  gently  girl,  gently,”  said  Mrs  Blake,  stooping 
down  to  pick  up  the  loaf  which  had  fallen  into  the 
coal ; “ you  ?ve  hurt  Joey.” 

Then  Nan  turned,  and  the  first  gleam  of  softening 
came  into  her  face,  as  she  comforted  the  little  boy. 

“ There,  don’t  ’ee  cry,”  she  said,  “ and  I ’ll  give  ?ee 
a bit  o’  sugar  presently;”  and  she  turned  round  to 
the  fire  again.  It  soon  blazed  cheerfully,  and  Paul 
Downing  cut  up  the  loaf,  made  the  tea,  and  gave  it  to 
the  children ; while  good  Mrs  Blake,  well  content  that 
they  were  being  taken  care  of  for  the  night,  went  away 
to  get  ready  her  husband’s  supper. 

It  was  a silent  meal  which  the  uncle  took  with  the 
two  children,  for  he  was  thinking,  and  they  were  too 


FORSAKEN. 


much  frightened  by  the  presence  of  a stranger  to  talk ; 
but  when  it  was  over,  he  said,  abruptly — 

“ Now,  look  here,  children  ; you  listen  to  what  I ’ve 
got  to  say.  I must  be  getting  away  home,  for  the  last 
’bus  my  way  will  soon  be  starting,  and  I ’ve  got  to  be 
at  my  work  in  the  morning  betimes.  By  rights,  you 
ought  both  of  you  to  go  to  the  workhouse ; but  I ’m 
going  to  do  you  a good  turn.  I ’ll  take  Joey  with  me, 
and  he  shall  be  one  of  my  own.” 

Nan  looked  up  at  him  curiously. 

“ Do  you  understand  me?”  he  said,  catching  sight  of 
her  anxious  face. 

“ And  what ’s  going  to  come  of  me  t ” she  asked,  in  a 
strange,  unchildlike  voice. 

“ Why,  you  see,  my  dear,  I don’t  know.  You  see,  I 
can’t  take  both ; and  I ’ve  a boy  and  two  girls  of  my 
own.  I can’t  afford  to  have  no  more  ; and  you  must 
— why  you  must  go  to  the  workhouse.  They  ’ll  soon 
get  you  a good  place  from  there,  if  you  ’re  a good 
girl;  and  you  are  older  than  Joey.” 

There  was  a silence  in  the  room.  Nan  was  thought- 
fully emptying  the  last  drops  of  tea  out  of  her  cracked 
mug  upon  the  table,  but  the  great  tears  were  gathering 
slowly  in  her  eyes,  and  at  last  the  mug  dropped  from 
her  hand,  and  fell  with  a clattering  smash  to  the 
ground.  Then  they  burst  out, — the  words  which  were 
almost  choking  her — “ Take  me  too, — take  me  too, — 
don’t  take  Joey  away  from  me.  Don’t — don’t.  I will 


10 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


be  good.  I can  fetch,  and  carry,  and  run  messages, 
and  anything.  Don’t  take  Joey  away.  Take  me 
too.” 

Uncle  Paul  looked  at  the  miserable  little  face,  and 
felt  pity  for  it ; but  the  thought  of  what  “ his  missus 
would  say  at  home,”  kept  him  resolute. 

“ I cannot  take  you,  little  one ; I would  if  I could, 
but  I can’t.  Now  you  be  a good  girl,  and  keep  up 
heart,  and  you  ’ll  soon  get  a nice  place,  and  you ’d  have 
to  part  from  Joey  then.” 

“ I ’d  be  ever  so  good.  I ’d  sleep  on  the  door-steps, 
or  I ’d  beg  for  my  bread ; only  don’t  take  Joey  from 
me.”  And  she  threw  her  thin  arms  round  the  little 
boy’s  neck,  and  laid  her  tearful  face  close  to  his. 

“ Nonsense,  child,  nonsense.  I can’t  waste  my  time 
this  way.  How  much  rent  is  owing  V* 

“ Twelve  shillings,”  answered  Nan,  readily. 

“ Well,  here ’s  ten  ; you  must  take  it  to  the  landlord 
in  the  morning,  and  the  key  of  the  room,  and  tell  him 
to  sell  the  rest  of  the  furniture ; and  then  you  must  go 
to  Mrs  Blake,  and  ask  her  to  take  you  to  the  parish 
overseer.  There,  I can’t  be  stopping  any  longer ; give 
Joey  his  cap,  and  let  us  go.  Some  day,  when  you  ’re 
a good  girl,  and  getting  on  well,  you  shall  come  and 
see  him  ; perhaps  some  Christmas-day,  and  we  ’ll  have 
roast-beef  and  a pudding.” 

“ Don’t  go — Joey,  don’t  go,”  whispered  Nan,  passion- 
ately, as  she  held  him  more  closely  in  her  arms. 


forsaken: 


11 


Paul  Downing  got  up,  and  searched  about  the  room 
till  he  found  the  little  boy’s  cap,  and  a ragged  scarlet 
comforter  which  he  twisted  round  his  neck. 

“ Come  along,  Joe,”  he  said  firmly. 

“I  don’t  want  to  leave  Nannie — let  Nannie  come  too,” 
sobbed  Joey,  who  was  frightened  by  his  uncle’s  deter- 
mined manner  and  Nan’s  vehement  sorrow. 

“ Nannie  can’t  come.  I can’t  have  you  both,”  said 
Uncle  Paul,  “ let  go  of  him  directly,  Nan.” 

“ I won’t — I won’t,”  said  Nan,  through  her  teeth. 

The  uncle  saw  then  that  he  must  take  stronger 
measures,  and  he  took  hold  of  the  girl’s  two  hands  that 
were  clenched  round  the  little  boy’s  neck,  and  with  his 
strong  fingers  soon  separated  them ; then  lifting  Joe  in 
his  arms,  he  strode  out  of  the  house. 

Nan  set  up  a loud  cry,  and  followed  him  to  the  door, 
but  her  uncle  was  too  strong  and  too  quick  for  her,  and 
he  stayed  not  for  the  fierce  words  which  went  after  him 
down  the  court,  “ I hate  you  ! I hate  you  ! — Joey  ! — 
Joey  ! ” they  died  away  in  a wail  of  grief,  and  after  one 
desperate  and  fruitless  sally  to  the  archway,  one  bitter 
cry  sent  into  the  dark  night,  Nan  turned  back  to  the 
lonely  room  which  had  been  her  home. 

The  fire  still  burned  brightly,  the  remains  of  the  tea 
were  on  the  table,  but  the  wretched  child  noticed 
nothing.  She  sat  down  hopelessly  by  the  grate,  and 
looked  at  the  blazing  coals*  while  the  tears  gathered 
in  her  eyes. 


12 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


Joey  was  gone  ! Joey ! the  one  thing  she  loved — 
the  one  thing  in  the  world  which  she  cared  to  be  near, 
and  to  see,  and  to  play  with  : — and  she  was  alone — 
nothing  mattered  much  now. 

She  looked  round  the  room  fearfully,  the  candle  had 
burnt  out,  there  was  nothing  but  the  flickering  fire- 
flame,  showing  the  heap  of  clothes  and  the  space  where 
the  coffin  had  been  the  night  before ; and  then  Nan 
thought  of  the  still  white  face  of  her  father,  and  of  how 
Mrs  Blake  had  talked  to  him  about  God,  who  was  good 
and  kind,  and  loved  every  one.  Nan  had  not  listened 
much,  but  she  had  just  heard  enough  to  know  that 
there  was  some  one,  whom  Mrs  Blake  said  “ cared  for 
every  one,”  and  just  then  she  sadly  needed  some  one  to 
care  for  her.  “ But  if  He ’d  cared,  He ’d  have  kept  that 
man  away,  and  not  let  him  take  Joey, — He  wouldn’t,” 
she  whispered  to  herself.  “ He  cares  about  folk  with 
fine  dresses  mayhap  and  plenty  of  money,  the  church 
folk  that  I see  going  where  the  bell  rings  on  Sundays, 
but  He  don’t  ever  look  down  our  way,  I s’pect.” 

Nan’s  thoughts  were  getting  too  much  for  her  now, 
she  hardly  dared  to  look  round  the  room.  She  rose 
at  last,  as  a wilder  gust  than  usual  dashed  up  against 
the  window,  shaking  its  frame  and  rattling  the  door, 
and  she  crept  out  into  the  darkness,  and  ran  down  the 
Buildings,  to  Mrs  Blake’s  house. 

Mrs  Blake  and  her  husband  were  at  supper,  and  the 
children  were  asleep  when  the  little  girl  stole  in. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


But,  Mrs  Blake,  don’t ’ee  send  me  away.” — Page  13. 


FORSAKEN. 


13 


44  Why,  Nan,  child,  what  brings  you  here,  and  what 
do  you  want  ? ” said  Mrs  Blake.  “ What ’s  the  matter 
with  the  child  ? ” 

But  Nan  ran  across  the  room  to  her,  and  suddenly 
kneeling  down,  buried  her  faoe  in  her  lap,  and  sobbed 
as  Mrs  Blake  had  never  seen  her  sob  before. 

“ What  is  it,  child  ? come,  speak  up,”  said  Mr  Blake, 
kindly ; and  then  the  words  came  in  short  jerked  sen- 
tences, 44  He ’s  taken  Joey,  he ’s  taken  J oey,  and  I hate 
him,  I hate  him.” 

44  Poor  child,  poor  child  ; hush  thee,  dear,”  said  Mrs 
Blake,  soothingly,  44  and  what  are  you  to  do  ? ” 

44  I ’m  to  go  to  the  workhouse,  I am,  and  be  a good 
girl,”  said  Nan,  suddenly,  with  a touch  of  bitterness 
which  was  beyond  her  years.  4 4 But,  Mrs  Blake,  don’t 
’ee  send  me  away  to-night,  don’t — don’t,  I can’t  sleep 
in  that  room,  and  I keep  thinking  father ’s  there,  and 
don’t  send  me  back.” 

44 No,  child, — no,  you  shall  sleep  here,  I’ll  put  you 
into  Polly’s  bed  along  with  her,  and  to-morrow  we  ’ll 
see  about  the  rest ; come  along ; ” and  the  motherly 
woman  took  the  little  girl  up-stairs,  tenderly  undressed 
and  washed  her,  and  put  her  into  her  own  children’s 
bed,  where  she  soon  fell  asleep. 

44  Mightn’t  we  keep  her,  father  ? ” said  Mrs  Blake 
when  she  came  down  again.  44  She ’s  a poor  miserable 
little  thing,  but  perhaps  if  some  one  was  kind  to  her 
she ’d  do  better.” 


14 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“No,  no,”  said  William  Blake,  shaking  his  head,  “I 
wouldn’t  have  that  girl  along  with  our  children  for  any 
money.  I can’t  tell  why,  but  I’m  sure  she’s  a bad 
’un.” 

Mrs  Blake  gave  a deep  sigh  as  she  put  away  the 
remains  of  the  supper  in  the  cupboard,  but  Nan’s  fate 
was  decided. 


CHAPTER  II. 


gait’s  <Jfksi  blimps*  cf  Wottyowt  ITife. 

“ The  day’s  toil  is  enough  to  bear, 

And  then  there  cometh  night.” 

— Thoughts  in  Verse  for  the  Hardworking 
and  Suffering. 

OTHER  ! mother  !”  called  out  little  Polly 
Blake,  the  next  morning  when  the  first 
ray  of  light  showed  her  who  was  sharing 
her  bed.  “ How  ever  did  Han  Downing  get 
here  1 take  her  away,  mother,  I don’t  like  her 
in  my  bed  at  all.” 

“ Hush  ! hush ! Polly,”  answered  the  mother, 
who  was  busy  preparing  her  husband’s  breakfast 
before  he  started  for  work.  “ Don’t  you  go  to 
wake  Han,  poor  little  thing.” 

“ But  she ’s  cross,  mother,  she  ’ll  pinch  us  when 
she  wakes  up,  and  she  shan’t  stop  in  my  bed,  she 
shan’t.” 

Han  was  sleeping  a deep,  dreamless  sleep, 
having  forgotten  for  a while  all  sorrow  and  care, 
not  remembering  the  trouble  of  yesterday,  not 


16 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


having  been  yet  aroused  to  meet  that  of  to-day; — it 
was  only  kind  to  let  her  sleep  be  as  long  as  possible. 
Polly’s  mother  felt  this,  and  came  over  to  the  bed. 

“ If  I was  you,  Polly,”  she  said  in  a whisper,  “ I ’d 
be  ashamed  to  speak  so.  The  poor  child  is  left  alone  ; 
her  father ’s  dead  and  buried,  and  in  the  night  her  uncle 
came  and  took  J oey  away,  and  left  her  all  by  herself ; 
and  she  came  down  here  crying,  poor  child,  and  I 
thought  my  Polly  was  a better  girl  than  she  is,  so  I put 
her  into  your  bed.” 

Polly  looked  ashamed.  “ She ’s  cross,  mother,  and 
she  beats  us  when  we  ’re  at  play  ; and  she ’s  ugly,  and 
I don’t  like  her ; but  ” 

“But  still  as  she’s  so  unhappy  you ’ll  let  her  bide 
here,  and  you  11  be  a bit  kind  to  her  ; that ’s  my  good 
girl.” 

Polly  contented  herself  by  getting  as  far  away  as 
she  could  from  Nan,  and,  in  doing  so,  she  rolled  over 
Jenny,  her  younger  sister,  who  woke  with  a grunt  of 
anger. 

“ I say,  mother,”  said  Polly  ; “ 1 11  get  up  and  leave 
them  all  my  place,  and  1 11  help  you  a bit,  and  we  11 
give  Nan  some  breakfast  when  she  wakes  up.” 

And  when  Nan  did  wake  up,  Polly  almost  wished 
that  she  had  not  said  so  much  about  her  being  cross  and 
hating  her,  for  Nan  was  much  too  miserable  to  be  cross 
now.  After  the  first  moment  of  sleepy  surprise,  when 
she  remembered  where  she  was,  and  all  the  sadness 


WORKHOUSE  LIFE. 


17 


of  the  night  before  came  back  to  her,  Nan  began  to  cry 
again  in  the  same  piteous  way  which  had  gone  to  Mrs 
Blake's  heart,  and  the  good  woman  went  up  to  her 
and  tried  to  comfort  her.  By  degrees,  she  induced  her 
to  stop  crying ; but  when  she  came  down-stairs,  Poll} 
and  Jenny  hardly  knew  her  for  that  Nan  Downing,  who 
was  the  terror  of  the  smaller  children  of  the  Buildings, 
she  looked  so  quiet  and  dull,  and  when  she  tried  to  eat 
she  could  not. 

“ The  bread  seems  to  stick,  it  won't  go  down,”  she 
said,  turning  to  Mrs  Blake,  with  quivering  lips  ; “ I feels 
sick.” 

“ There,  dearie,  I '11  put  some  treacle  on  it,  and  now 
you  try  if  it  won’t  go  down,”  said  her  friend,  who  knew 
that  sickness  of  heart  was  even  worse  than  sickness  of 
body,  and  far  more  difficult  to  cure. 

Even  the  treacle  did  not  help  Nan  to  eat  much  break- 
fast, and  Mrs  Blake  dreaded  the  task  which  was  before 
her  extremely,  but  she  knew  that  it  was  useless  putting 
it  off ; so,  when  Polly  and  Jenny  had  been  sent  to 
school,  and  the  house  was  “ cleaned  up  ” for  the  day,  she 
called  to  Nan,  who  was  holding  the  baby  in  her  arms 
just  outside  the  door,  and  told  her  that  she  must  come 
with  her. 

“ Where  are  we  going  ? ” said  Nan,  with  a frightened 
look  coming  over  her  face. 

4 4 First  to  the  landlord,  my  dear,  to  pay  your  rent, 
and  then  I must  take  you  up  to  Mr  Mason.” 

B 


18 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“ I won't  go  to  him,”  said  Nan. 

“ Yes,  you  will ; I know  you  will  now,  like  a good 
girl,  because  you  can’t  stop  here,  poor  child ; we  can't 
afford  to  keep  you,  and  the  relieving  officer 's  bound  to 
tell  us  what  to  do  with  you.” 

“ I don’t  want  to  go  to  the  workhouse,”  said  Nan, 
beginning  to  cry  again. 

“ It  won’t  be  for  long,  dearie ; if  you  're  a good  girl, 
they  ’ll  soon  get  you  a nice  place,  and  you  'll  turn  into 
such  a smart  little  servant ; and  you  'll  have  plenty  to 
eat  and  drink,  and  you  '11  have  a bed  to  sleep  on  ; " and 
her  friend,  in  the  kindness  of  her  heart,  made  the 
picture  as  bright  as  she  could,  adding,  by  way  of  con- 
trast, “ and  if  you  don’t  go  there,  you  ’ll  have  to  go 
hungry,  and  you  'll  have  to  sleep  out  in  the  cold,  and 
perhaps  some  one  will  run  away  with  you.” 

Nan  said  no  more  ; she  felt  that  she  had  no  power 
to  resist,  and  she  only  followed  Mrs  Blake  out  of  the 
house  in  despairing  silence.  She  turned  round  wonder- 
ingly  and  looked  in  at  the  windows  of  her  old  home  ; 
it  seemed  strange  that  it  was  not  her  home  any  more, 
but  everything  was  strange  now.  As  she  was  passing 
under  the  archway  she  saw  a little  child,  with  whom  she 
had  often  played,  standing  in  her  way. 

Little  Jane  looked  up  at  her  anxiously. 

“ Where  be  you  going,  Nan  ] ''  she  asked. 

“ I be  going  away,”  answered  Nan. 

“ For  good  and  all  ] ” 


WORKHOUSE  LIFE. 


19 


“ Yes  ; ” and  she  looked  wistfully  into  the  child’s  face, 
as  if  hungry  for  some  sign  of  pity  or  sorrow, — but  as  “ we 
sow,  so  also  shall  we  reap.”  Nan  had  sown  roughness 
and  unkindness  amongst  her  playmates,  and  she  could 
not  expect  to  reap  pity  and  love.  Jane’s  face  brightened 
considerably  at  the  news,  and  she  only  said,  “ I be  so 
glad  to  hear  it,  you  11  never  bully  us  no  more.” 

The  angry  colour  came  flushing  into  Nan’s  pale  face, 
and  she  struck  little  Jane  with  her  bony,  clenched 
fist. 

“ You  naughty  child,”  said  Mrs  Blake,  giving  her  a 
shake  ; “ how  can  you  expect  any  one  ever  to  love  you 
if  you  go  on  like  that  ? Listen  now,  you ’ve  made  her 
cry.” 

“I’m  glad  I have,”  said  Nan,  sullenly,  as  she 
walked  on. 

When  they  got  out  from  the  Buildings,  the  two  went 
together  down  the  broad,  crowded  thoroughfare,  where 
the  people  were  jostling,  and  bustling,  and  hurry- 
ing on  their  way,  working  as  hard  as  they  could,  that 
they  might  sooner  return  to  the  enjoyment  of  their 
homes ; but  no  one  noticed  the  forlorn  little  girl  who 
shuffled  along  beside  the  one  friend  she  had  in  the 
world, — the  one  friend  whom  she  was  so  soon  to  lose. 
What  did  it  matter  to  any  one,  amongst  all  the  num- 
bers whom  she  met,  that  she  had  no  home,  and  no 
one  to  care  whether  she  was  alive  or  dead  ? 

They  stopped  at  the  landlord’s  house,  where  Mrs 


20 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


Blake  settled  about  the  rent,  and  delivered  up  the  key 
of  Nan’s  old  home.  The  landlord  asked  no  questions 
as  to  what  was  to  become  of  Nan  ; she  could  no  longer 
pay  the  rent,  and  that  was  enough  for  him  : he  must 
let  the  house  to  some  one  who  could. 

Then  they  went  on  their  way  again ; Mrs  Blake 
stopping  at  a baker’s  shop,  just  as  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  workhouse,  and  buying  for  Nan  a large  currant- 
bun,  which  the  little  girl  was  still  eating  when  they 
turned  into  the  narrow  street  where  the  workhouse 
stood.  In  a very  few  minutes,  they  were  standing  be- 
fore the  great  doors,  had  rung  the  bell,  and  asked  to 
see  the  relieving-officer.  The  porter  showed  them  in, 
with  two  or  three  other  miserable-looking  people,  to  the 
little  office  where  Mr  Mason  sat,  and  Mrs  Blake  told 
him  Nan’s  story  shortly. 

“ Ah  ! I see,”  he  answered ; “ of  course.  She ’s 
thirteen,  you  say  ; she  ’ll  be  sent  to  school  in  a day  or 
two,  if  she  passes  the  Board  of  Guardians  ; they  sit 
to-morrow.  I ’ll  send  her  over  to  the  matron  directly, 
to  let  the  doctor  see  her.  Now,  then,  who  comes 
next  h ” And  Mrs  Blake  had  to  move  away  from  the 
window  where  she  had  been  standing. 

“ Now,  then,  you  be  off,”  said  the  porter,  roughly ; 
a cant  have  you  hanging  about  here,  when  you ’ve  said 
what  you ’ve  got  to  say.” 

“ There,  Nan,  my  dear,  let  go  of  my  shawl,”  whis- 
pered her  friend,  trying  to  draw  herself  away  from  the 


WORKHOUSE  LIFE. 


21 


child’s  grasp.  “ They  ’ll  take  you  to  the  matron,  and 
you  ’ll  have  a good  dinner  directly.’’ 

But  Nan  gazed  round  at  the  large  court-yard,  at  the 
high  gloomy  walls,  and  at  the  rows  of  windows,  which 
seemed  like  so  many  eyes  looking  at  her  out  of  the 
walls,  and  then  she  began  to  cry  piteously. 

“ Oh  ! Mrs  Blake ! take  me  away,  take  me  away  with 
you.  I ’ll  be  good.  I ’ll  be  ever  so  good.  I can’t  stay 
here  all  by  myself.” 

“ There,  poor  child ; there,  now,  don’t  cry.  I can’t 
take  you  away ; but  you  be  a good  girl,  and  you  ’ll  get 
on  finely;”  and  the  good  woman  kissed  her  almost  as 
tenderly  as  if  she  had  been  her  own  little  Polly.  The 
tenderness  only  made  Nan,  who  knew  so  little  of  it, 
cling  to  her  more  closely  than  before. 

“ I ’d  be  good  ! I ’d  be  good,”  she  wailed ; “ I haven’t 
got  no  one  to  love  me and  the  hot  scalding  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks,  and  fell  on  Mrs  Blake’s  hands. 

Mrs  Blake  could  not  keep  from  crying  herself ; but 
the  porter  again  told  her  she  must  go ; and  so  she 
firmly  disengaged  herself  from  the  child’s  grasp,  and 
with  one  more  hasty  kiss,  and  sobbing  out,  “ God  help 
you ; you  poor  little  lone  thing,”  she  hurried  away. 

The  blinding  tears  almost  kept  Nan  from  seeing  that 
she  was  gone ; but  she  felt  that  her  hands  w’ere  empty. 
She  heard  the  great  door  shut,  and  then  she  knew  that 
she  was  alone.  Mother,  father,  Joey,  Mrs  Blake,  all 
were  gone;  all  her  old  life  was  gone.  She  must 


22 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


fight  her  way  on  in  the  new  life,  as  she  best  could,  by 
herself. 

She  cried  on,  not  heeding  the  words  of  the  women 
who  stood  near  her. 

“ Ah  ! poor  child ! save  your  tears,  you  ’ll  have 
enough  to  cry  for  by  and  by.” 

“ Bless  the  girl,  how  she  sobs  ; wait  till  you ’ve  had 
such  a life  as  I ’ve  had,  my  dear,  and  there  won’t  be  a 
tear  left  in  you,  let  your  eyes  ache  for  them  ever  so.” 
But  at  last  a man  came  up,  and  tapped  her  on  the 
arm,  and  his  tone  of  command  checked  her  grief. 

“ Come,  come,  my  girl,  no  more  of  that  crying  • you 
come  along  to  the  matron.” 

There  was  something  in  the  way  the  words  were 
said,  which  seemed  to  tell  Nan,  that  crying  was  not 
allowed  by  the  authorities,  and  she  stopped  soon ; but 
as  the  last  sob  was  smothered,  there  came  to  her  a 
strange,  hard  feeling,  as  if  her  heart  was  turning  to 
stone,  and  very  sullenly  she  followed  the  official  into 
the  presence  of  the  matron. 

The  matron,  having  glanced  at  the  note  of  the  reliev- 
ing officer,  remarked,  that  it  was  fortunate  Nan  could 
pass  the  doctor’s  examination  that  morning — which  she 
accordingly  did  ; and  when  she  was  washed  and  dressed 
in  the  workhouse  clothes,  she  was  sent  into  the  nursery 
to  help  in  minding  the  little  children.  There  was  an 
elderly  woman  there,  who  advised  her  not  to  look  so 
sullen  and  cross,  for  that  it  was  enough  to  scare  the 


WORKHOUSE  LIFE \ 


23 


children ; but  Nan  only  looked  more  sullen  at  this,  and 
pinched  a little  idiot  boy  who  made  faces  at  her,  so 
that  she  made  him  cry. 

Soon  afterwards  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and  she  fol- 
lowed the  other  inmates  of  the  workhouse  into  the 
large  hall,  where  she  was  provided  with  a large  piece  of 
bread  and  a bowl  of  pea-soup.  She  wondered  how  all 
those  around  her  could  eat  their  food  so  greedily,  for 
she  felt  too  sick  and  tired  to  care  for  it ; but  it  was  not 
many  days  before  she  became  hungry  for  it  also. 

In  the  afternoon,  she  was  set  to  scrub  the  nursery 
floor;  and  then  followed  supper,  and  prayers  in  the 
great  hall,  which  were  read  by  the  master  of  the  work- 
house.  This  puzzled  Nan  more  than  anything  else. 
She  had  never  heard  public  prayers  to  God  before,  and 
she  did  not  know  what  they  meant.  Here  were  all 
these  people,  who  looked  so  wretched,  and  who  must 
have  been  wretched  before  they  could  have  come  to  the 
workhouse,  quite  quiet,  and  seeming  to  listen,  while 
the  master  spoke  to  some  one  whom  Nan  could  not  see ; 
and  spoke  to  Him,  as  if  He  loved  all  the  workhouse 
folk,  and  as  if  He  cared  what  became  of  them.  What 
could  it  mean  ] Was  it  possible  that  he  was  speaking 
to  the  same  God  that  the  fine  ladies  spoke  to  when 
they  went  to  church  on  Sundays  h and  was  it  possible 
that  God  had  time,  or  cared  to  listen  ? Oh  ! it  could 
only  be  because  it  was  the  master  who  was  saying  the 
words.  God  would  hear  the  master,  but  she  didn't 


24 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


think  He  would  be  likely  to  hear  her,  even  if  she  had 
anything  to  say  to  Him,  which  she  had  not.  Yet  just 
when  they  were  leaving  off,  something  struck  her  ear 
strangely,  about  “the  love  of  God  being  with  us  all 
evermore.”  She  couldn’t  understand  it ; but  yet  it 
stayed  in  her  mind  when  she  went  to  her  bed  in  one  of 
the  smaller  sleeping-rooms.  The  other  people  in  the 
room  took  no  notice  of  her,  and  Nan  crept  into  her  half 
of  the  bed  assigned  to  her,  knowing  nothing  of  her 
companion  in  it,  except  that  she  was  a girl  who  went 
asleep  quickly  and  snored,  while  poor  little  Nan  herself 
lay  awake,  and  now  that  no  one  could  see  her,  cried 
about  Joey,  until  she  could  cry  no  more. 


CHAPTER  III. 


Watt's  ^irst  spinet. 

“ Outward,  we  are  spurning — 

Trampling  one  another, 

While  we  are  inly  yearning, 

At  the  name  of  ‘ Brother  1 * >f 

— Gerald  Massey . 

HE  next  day,  Nan  was  sent  down  by  train 
with  two  or  three  other  children — sad. 
looking,  half-starved,  joyless  children  like 
herself — to  the  large  workhouse  school.  It 
was  a huge,  square  building,  which  looked  over  a 
wide  stretch  of  treeless  country,  till  the  view  was 
j ^ bounded  by  the  houses  and  smoke  of  the  great 
city.  There  was  pure  air,  there  was  good  food ; 
there  was  everything  here  that  was  necessary  to 
the  healthy  support  of  children — it  was  all  better 
than  Nan  had  ever  known  before— yet  she  was 
not  happy.  Her  face  remained  sullen  as  ever ; 
her  heart  grew  colder  and  harder.  Her  lawless 
spirit  rebelled  against  the  routine  and  order  of 
the  school-life,  and  she  was  still  the  lonely,  un- 
loved, and  unloving  child,  who  had  lived  in 


26 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


Grove  Buildings.  There  was  no  one  to  come  to  her 
and  say,  “ I care  that  you  should  do  right,  because 
I love  you.  I know  you,  little  lonely  Nan  Downing, 
I think  about  your  life,  and  I want  to  make  it  glad 
and  bright,  instead  of  the  cold  dark  life  it  is.”  No  ! she 
was  one  of  a crowd,  she  must  do  as  the  rest  did.  There 
were  rules  for  all,  and  she  must  obey  them  : if  she  did 
not,  she  must  be  punished,  and  the  punishment,  which 
was  not  unfrequent,  was  all  that  broke  the  sameness  of 
the  days  as  they  went  by.  She  took  no  pleasure  in 
learning,  for  she  was  naturally  dull,  and  utterly  ignorant. 
We  will  not  describe  this  part  of  her  life  more  closely; 
it  was  not  an  individual  life  at  all.  She  was  one  of  a 
number — living,  moving,  and  growing  up  by  rule.  All 
that  was  hard,  and  cold,  and  unloving  in  her,  growing 
stronger ; and  the  nobler,  better  self,  which  was  there, 
and  which  is  in  every  one  that  God  has  ever  made,  lying 
hidden  away,  with  no  one  to  wake  it,  and  no  one  to 
look  for  it.  Would  it  ever  be  found  out  h Would  it 
ever  rise  up  to  be  what  God  meant  it  to  be  h or  would 
it  sleep  on  through  all  this  life-time,  smothered  and 
kept  under  by  what  was  bad,  and  false,  and  miserable  ? 
Time  would  tell — only  one  thing  was  certain,  that 
though  she  had  no  thought  of  Him,  though  she  was 
living  her  life  as  if  He  never  thought  of  her,  God 
loved  Nan  through  it  all.  She  had  learned  the  Creed. 
She  could  say,  with  a great  many  mistakes,  all  about 
her  belief  in  God  the  Father  Almighty,  who  had  made 


WAIT'S  first  place. 


27 


heaven  and  earth,  and  in  Jesus  Christ,  His  only  Son 
our  Lord.”  She  could  say  about,  “ Our  Father,  which 
art  in  heaven,”  as  fast  as  any  of  the  other  children  ; but 
she  only  believed  in  this  Father  and  understood  His 
love,  about  as  much  as  did  the  whitewashed  walls 
where  the  Creed  and  the  Lord’s  Prayer  were  hung  up 
on  large  cards. 

But  after  a year  or  two  there  came  a change — 
winter-time  was  coming  round  again,  and  many  girls 
were  wanted  for  service.  With  envious  eyes,  Nan  saw 
one  after  another  going  out ; any  change  from  this  daily 
machine-cut  life  would  be  a relief ; and  at  last  there 
came  a chance  even  for  her.  One  of  the  girls,  who  was 
to  take  a place  as  maid-of-ail-work  to  a green-grocer’s 
wife  in  Islington,  fell  ill  just  as  she  was  going  to  it.  Nan 
was  of  the  same  age  and  size,  though  she  had  not  been 
as  long  in  the  school  as  some  of  the  others ; but  Sally 
Martin’s  clothes  exactly  fitted  her,  which  was  a great 
point ; and  the  schoolmistress  also  said,  she  would 
never  do  any  good  at  learning,  that  she  had  much 
better  be  put  into  some  place  where  she  would  be  made 
to  work. 

And  so  Nan  found  herself,  one  morning  in  December, 
standing  at  the  door  of  Mr  Jackson’s  shop.  All  through 
the  night  the  snow  had  been  falling,  and  now  every- 
thing was  covered  with  it,  and  even  the  muddy  London 
roads  were  disguised  with  its  soft  whiteness — for  as  yet 
it  was  early,  and  but  few  carts  and  carriages  had  disturbed 


28 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


or  sullied  it.  The  church-clock  had  just  struck  six, 
and,  except  for  the  light  which  the  snow  gave,  the 
streets  were  dark,  when  the  little  girl  stood  in  the 
piercing  wind  at  the  green-grocer’s  door. 

She  knocked  timidly  once  or  twice  and  received  no 
answer,  for  she  could  not  reach  up  to  the  bell,  which 
was  placed  high  ; but  a policeman,  who  was  passing, 
first  frightened  her,  by  asking  her  gruffly  what  she 
wanted,  and  then  rang  the  bell  for  her,  with  a peal 
which  must  have  aroused  the  whole  house.  Angry 
voices  were  heard  inside,  and  presently  a head  was  put 
out  of  the  upper  window. 

“ Who  ’s  there  'I  ” said  a woman’s  voice. 

“ Nan  Downing,  please,  ma’am,”  answered  the  girl 
from  below. 

“ What  ! the  workhouse  girl ; what  do  you  make 
such  a noise  for  there  ? one  would  think  the  house  was 
a fire.” 

“ Please,  ma’am,  I didn’t  ....  it  was”  .... 

But  the  head  was  drawn  back,  and  the  window  was 
shut  before  she  could  say  any  more,  and  she  was  left 
standing  in  the  cold  for  some  minutes  longer.  Nan 
dreaded  the  face  that  would  probably  appear  at  the 
door,  after  the  angry  greeting  she  had  received  from  the 
window ; but  when  the  bolts  were  drawn  back,  and  the 
key  turned,  there  was  nothing  very  alarming  on  the 
other  side, — only  a sleepy  boy,  whose  teeth  were  chat- 
tering with  the  cold,  and  whose  lips  were  very  blue. 


NAN’S  FIRST  PLACE. 


29 


“ Are  you  the  girl  % ” he  said,  yawning. 

“ Yes  ! ” answered  Nan,  as  she  shuffled  into  the 
shop. 

“You’ll  catch  it!” 

“Why  r 

“ For  making  such  a row  !” 

“It  wasn’t  me — it  was  the  policeman.” 

At  the  name  of  the  policeman,  the  boy  looked  awe- 
struck. 

“Do  they  send  you  from  the  work’us  in  his  care  ? 
why  that ’s  as  bad  as  a prison.” 

The  tears  came  into  Nan’s  eyes ; she  was  cold,  and 
hungry,  and  very  miserable,  and  it  did  not  take  much 
to  make  her  cry ; but  she  looked  sulkily  defiant  at  the 
boy. 

“ There,”  he  said,  good-naturedly,  when  he  saw  what 
his  careless  words  had  done  ; “ you  needn’t  mind  about 
that,  I was  only  joking;  but  what  was  the  bobby  doing 
with  you  ? ” 

“ He  rung  the  bell  for  me,  that  was  all,”  said  Nan  ; 
“ I couldn’t  reach  up  !” 

“ That  was  it,  was  it  1 Well,  missus  was  using 
pretty  strong  words  about  it ; but  it  wasn’t  your  fault, 
at  any  rate  ! Come  along  and  help  us  light  the  kitchen 
fire,  and  then  we  ’ll  have  to  sweep  up^  shop.  Master ’s 
gone  to  Co  vent  Garden.” 

He  led  Nan  past  the  small  counter,  and  amongst 
numerous  sacks  of  potatoes,  bundles  of  wood,  piles  of 


30 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


celery,  and  baskets  of  apples,  to  the  kitchen  at  the  back 
of  the  shop,  and  then  he  put  some  sticks  in  the  grate, 
and  a lighted  match,  and  getting  down  a large,  un- 
wieldy pair  of  bellows,  he  thrust  them  into  Nan’s  hands, 
and  told  her  to  blow  up  the  flame  while  he  went  to 
fetch  the  coals  from  outside.  When  he  came  back  he 
found  the  girl  on  her  knees  before  the  fire,  but  moving 
the  bellows  very  feebly. 

“ Why,  that  might  be  a fly  blowing,”  he  laughed,  as 
he  piled  on  the  coals,  “ I ’d  like  to  see  our  missus  watch 
you  blowing  up  the  fire  like  that,  would’nt  you  catch 
it  ! Here,  give  it  to  me,  you  aren’t  even  as  strong  as  a 
cat,”  and  with  boyish  pride  in  his  superior  strength,  he 
took  the  bellows  out  of  Nan’s  hand,  and  going  hard  to 
work,  he  soon  had  a cheery  flame  blazing  and  crackling 
up  the  chimney.  Nan  still  knelt  by  his  side,  and 
stretched  out  her  numbed  fingers  to  the  blaze,  and  as 
she  did  so,  she  turned  to  look  in  the  face  of  her  new 
acquaintance. 

He  was  a boy  of  about  fourteen,  with  a broad  open 
face,  wide  mouth  and  eyes,  which,  though  they  were 
small,  twinkled  with  fun.  If  he  had  lived  in  the 
country  he  would  have  been  a rosy-faced  lad  ; as  it  was, 
town  air,  late  hours,  and  hard  work  had  done  a good 
deal  towards  making  his  cheeks  white,  but  had  not 
quite  succeeded,  and  two  small  patches  of  red,  like  the 
rosy  side  of  a weather-beaten  apple,  were  still  left  on 
them.  His  hair  was  red,  and  very  curly,  and  at  the 


NAN'S  FIRST  PLACE. 


31 


present  time  very  rough ; but  Nan  was  accustomed  to 
wild-looking  boys,  and  thought  this  one  had  a more 
good-natured  face  than  most  of  his  sort. 

“ What ’s  your  name  ? ” she  said,  doubtfully. 

“ Peter,”  he  answered,  “ Peter  Burke ; what ’s  yours  ? ” 

“Nan  Downing.” 

“ What  made  you  go  to  the  workhouse  ? ” 

An  angry  flush  came  over  Nan’s  face,  and  she  did 
not  speak. 

“ Couldn’t  help  it,  I suppose  ? ” said  Peter,  turning 
his  twinkling  eyes  on  her,  curiously  yet  not  unkindly. 

“ I shan’t  tell  you,”  said  Nan,  sullenly. 

“ I don’t  want  you  to,”  said  Peter,  and  he  began  to 
whistle,  but  presently  breaking  off  in  his  tune,  he  spoke 
again, — “ I came  out  of  the  work’us  too.” 

“You  did?”  said  Nan,  with  great  interest. 

“ Yes  ! mother  died  there,”  and  the  boy’s  voice  took 
a lower  tone,  “ and  I was  ill,  and  an  uncle  of  mine  came 
and  had  a look  at  me,  to  see  if  I would  do  for  his  work, 
but  he  said  I was  such  a sickly  chap,  I might  just  bide 
where  I was.” 

“Did  you  hate  him?”  said  Nan,  with  a sudden 
fierce  thought  of  her  own  wrongs. 

“ Hate  him  ? no  ! that  wouldn’t  have  done  a bit  of 
good, — not  I,  I just  got  well  to  spite  him,”  and  Peter 
laughed  a hearty,  happy  laugh  that  was  an  uncommon 
sound  to  Nan’s  ear. 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  a 


32 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


-faced  woman  came  in  with  a baby  in  her 


/ “ So  you  he  Nan  Downing ! ” she  said,  in  a voice  which 
was  as  sharp  as  her  face, — “and  what  did  you  make  all 
that  row  for,  as  if  you  were  a duchess  instead  of  a work’us 
girl  ? I ’ll  tell  you  what  it  is,  I ’ll  have  none  o’  your 
airs  here  ! And  what  are  you  doing  here,  Peter  h be  off 
now  out  of  this,  you  Ve  no  business  to  be  in  the  kitchen 
doing  Nan’s  work,  you  go  and  clean  up  shop,  and  don’t 
be  blowing  up  the  fire  any  more.  Here,  my  fine  duchess, 
take  the  baby,  if  you’re  not  too  grand  ! ” 

It  was  not  a promising  beginning  in  life,  but  Nan 
was  tolerably  hardened  to  rough  words,  much  more  ac- 
customed to  them  than  to  kind  ones,  and  she  only  put 
on  the  old  defiant  look,  and  held  out  her  arms  for  the 
baby.  Mrs  Jackson  looked  at  her,  as  she  put  the  child 
into  her  arms  : it  was  not  a pleasant  face  that  she  saw, 
it  was  sullen  and  ugly ; probably  the  baby  would  cry  if 
it  found  such  a face  as  that  looking  upon  it ; she  half 
drew  the  child  back,  but  time  was  getting  on,  the  ma^ 
ter’s  breakfast  would  not  be  ready,  and  then  there 
would  be  “ a row,”  so  she  handed  it  over  doubtfully  to 


She  need  not  have  been  afraid  though,  for  baby  was 
not ; there  was  no  sullenness,  no  hardness  in  that  face, 
when  the  wistful  baby  eyes  looked  up  into  it ; it  was 
soft  and  gentle  as  any  good  girl’s  might  be,  with  a 
yearning  motherliness  in  it  that  was  a strange  contrast 


Nan. 


TURNED  OUT  OF  DOORS. 


65 


down  his  cheeks.  u It ’s  wicked  to  say  that,  when  you 
know  I didn’t.” 

Nan  turned  away ; hardened  as  she  was,  she  could 
not  bear  the  sight  of  the  face,  which  had  been  such  a 
friendly  one  to  her,  now  looking  so  sad  and  miserable, 
and  to  feel  that  the  misery  was  her  doing. 

“ I ’ve  been  missing  the  apples  for  a long  time,”  said 
Mrs  Jackson. 

“ Once  more,”  said  her  husband,  catching  Peter  by 
the  arm  and  shaking  him ; “ where ’s  the  money  V* 

“ I tell  you  the  truth,  I don’t  know,”  said  Peter  ; “ I 
never  saw  it.” 

“You’re  a young  liar,  that’s  what  you  are;  and 
you  ’ll  take  that,  and  that,  and  that,”  and  sharp  blows 
fell  on  the  boy’s  head  and  neck. 

“ If  I was  you,  Jackson,  I ’d  go  for  a policeman,” 
said  his  wife. 

“ Well,  it  ain’t  worth  while,  and  I ’m  tired,  but  you 
may  sack,  young  man,  as  soon  as  you  like.  I ’ll  have 
no  thieves  under  my  roof ; you  don’t  sleep  another 
night  here.  I ’ll  stop  the  money  out  of  the  wages  I 
owe  you,  and  nowT  you  be  off.” 

Peter  had  sunk  down  on  the  floor  under  the  heavy 
hand  of  his  master,  and  when  he  stood  up  he  was  pale 
and  trembling,  and  there  were  signs  of  blood  on  his 
face. 

“ Am  I to  go  now  V*  he  said  in  a low,  hoarse  voice. 

“ Yes,  now.” 

E 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER, . 


“ Where  am  I to  sleep  to-night  ? ” 

“ Where  you  like,  so  long  as  it  isn’t  here,  and  think 
yourself  lucky  it ’s  not  in  prison.” 

“ May  I take  my  things  1 ” 

“ Yes,  I don’t  want  your  rubbish  ; here ’s  the  wages 
I owe  you.  I Ve  stopped  out  what  you  Ve  stolen.” 
Peter  looked  up  then,  and  without  tears,  but  with 
his  lips  quivering,  he  said,  “ I haven’t  stolen.  God 
knows  I Ve  not  laid  fingers  here  on  nothing  that  didn’t 
belong  to  me.” 

“ That ’s  as  may  be.  You ’d  better  not  give  me  no 
more  of  that  sauce,  nor  be  taking  God’s  name  in  vain 
like  that ; and  you  setting  up  for  being  so  good.  I ’d 
like  your  teachers  over  at  Sunday  School  to  know 
about  your  thieving.  Now,  Betsy,  you  just  get  him  his 
traps,  or  he ’d  be  taking  something  else  that  isn’t  his.” 
Peter  looked  for  one  moment  as  if  he  could  have 
sprung  upon  his  master  in  his  anger,  but  he  clenched 
his  hands  together,  and  stood  quietly  until  Mrs  Jackson 
brought  down  his  bundle.  Then  he  walked  across  the 
room  and  took  down  his  books  from  the  shelf,  and  put 
them  up  with,  his  other  things.  Nan  was  furtively 
watching  him,  all  sorts  of  feelings  working  in  her  heart ; 
a longing,  even  now,  to  say  that  she  had  done  all  the 
wrong,  and  that  he  was  guiltless  ; a pity  for  his  bleed- 
ing face  and  trembling  limbs ; a dread  least  anything 
should  happen  to  call  attention  to  herself,  and  she 
should  be  found  out. 


TURNED  OUT  OF  DOORS. 


67 


But  as  long  as  she  lived  she  never  forgot  the  look 
Peter  turned  on  her  as  he  went  away.  “ Good-bye, 
Nan,”  he  said,  and  he  held  out  his  hand, — “ I didn’t 
think  you ’d  have  told  a lie  upom  me,  like  that.” 

The  baby  was  sleeping  peacefully  in  its  cradle  through 
all  this  scene ; he  stooped  down  and  kissed  it,  then  took 
up  his  bundle,  and  left  the  house ; and  thus  it  was  that 
Nan  Downing  drove  her  only  friend  away  from  her. 

The  next  day  there  was  a new  boy  in  Peter’s  place, 
— “a  much  smarter  boy  than  Peter,”  Mrs  Jackson  said, 
but  a boy  with  no  kind  words  for  Nan  j a boy  who  only 
thought  of  saving  himself  trouble  if  he  could,  and  of 
playing  mischievous  tricks  on  others. 

Nan  began  to  know  how  much  she  had  lost  in  Peter, 
when  Bill  Smith  took  to  teasing  her ; he  very  soon 
found  out  that  she  had  a bad  temper  and  that  it  was 
easily  roused,  and  it  was  fine  fun  to  him  to  see  her 
getting  angry,  and  to  hear  her  mistress  scold  her.  Nan 
hated  him  and  wished  he  had  never  come,  and  added  to 
this,  she  was  haunted  with  a wondering  fear  as  to  what 
had  become  of  Peter.  She  heard  nothing  of  him  after 
the  street-door  was  closed  on  him  that  wretched  night, 
her  last  remembrance  was  of  that  sad  reproachful  face, 
the  cry  of  pain,  the  last  piteous  appeal  to  herself. 
Whenever  she  was  sent  out  on  an  errand,  she  looked 
wistfully  at  all  the  boys  she  met,  hoping  that,  perhaps, 
she  might  recognise  Peter  in  one  of  them,  but  she  never 
saw  him,  never  knew  whether  he  had  found  any  shelter 


68 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER, 


that  night,  or  whether  there  was  any  one  to  give  him 
any  food  the  next  day.  She  tried  to  think  she  did  not 
care,  that  it  was  a very  good  thing  for  her  to  have  kept 
herself  out  of  prison  by  throwing  the  blame  of  her  sin 
on  some  one  else  ; but  what  made  matters  worst  of  all 
was  that  one  morning  at  breakfast,  when  Mr  Jackson 
was  reading  his  paper,  he  exclaimed,  “ Here ’s  a boy 
been  found  drowned  in  the  river  ; the  description  sounds 
uncommonly  like  Peter.  Well,  I suppose  he ’d  have 
likely  enough  come  to  the  gallows  if  he’d  lived,  and 
if  it ’s  him  he  was  a real  bad  ’un,  that  he  was — and  he 
setting  up  for  one  of  your  saints  !” 

“ Oh ! but  that’s  shocking,”  said  Mrs  Jackson. 
“ Hadn’t  you  better  go  and  see  if  it  was  him,  Jackson, 
and  tell  what  you  knew  of  him  1 ” 

“ Not  I — it  mayn’t  be  him;  and  if  it  is,  I ’ll  keep  out 
of  it,”  said  the  greengrocer,  with  a guilty  remembrance 
of  the  blows  he  had  given  the  boy. 

Nan  heard  all  this  with  a frightened  white  face,  and 
wildly  beating  heart.  Could  it  be  that  Peter  was  dead? 
— that  perhaps  she  had  caused  his  death, — if  it  was  all 
found  out  would  she  be  hung  for  murder  ? What 
should  she  do  ? Could  she  speak  now  and  say  that  he 
had  not  stolen  the  money,  that  she  was  the  thief,  and 
that  Peter  had  been  true  ? No  ! she  could  not  do  that; 
it  seemed  harder  than  ever  now  if  he  was  dead,  and  if 
she  had  driven  him  out  to  meet  that  death.  Had  he 
been  so  miserable  that  he  had  jumped  into  the  water 


TURNED  OUT  OF  DOORS. 


69 


and  drowned  himself?  Nan  had  heard  of  this  being 
done  over  and  over  again.  Her  own  father  had  often 
threatened  to  do  it,  but  she  thought  it  was  only 
wicked  people  who  did  it,  and  she  didn’t  think  Peter 
would  do  it,  for  he  was  not  wicked ; perhaps  he  had 
been  so  cold  and  hungry  that  he  had  fallen  in,  perhaps 
he  had  been  pushed  in  by  somebody  else.  There  was 
an  old  spelling-book  which  he  had  given  her,  on  the 
shelf,  she  took  it  up,  hardly  thinking  of  what  she  was 
doing,  and  carried  it  out  to  the  door-step  with  the  baby, 
and  she  sat  there  in  the  sunshine  turning  over  the  leaves, 
and  looking  at  all  the  scribbling  marks  which  Peter  had 
made.  Oh,  he  had  been  very  kind  to  her,  and  there 
was  no  one  left  to  be  kind  to  her  now.  But  hidden 
amongst  the  pages  of  the  book  lay  the  precious  valen- 
tine, and  as  she  looked  at  it,  and  the  bright  sunlight 
made  the  silver  heart  shine,  she  thought  of  Joey,  and 
she  remembered  the  smart  red  roses  that  she  was  to 
wear,  and  she  began  to  hope  that  she  would  soon  have 
another  holiday,  and  after  that  she  did  not  think  of 
Peter  any  more. 

Just  then,  Mrs  Jackson  desired  her  to  go  to  the 
baker’s  shop  near,  and  to  take  the  baby  with  her,  so  she 
laid  the  old  torn  book,  with  the  valentine  inside  of  it, 
down  by  the  door,  and  went  away. 

When  she  came  back  Bill  greeted  her  with  a pro- 
voking grin. 

“ Where  did  you  steal  that  there  valentine  ? ” 


70 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“ What  have  you  been  doing  with  my  book  ? ” asked 
Nan,  angrily. 

“ Can’t  you  answer  a civil  question  ? Who  was  ever 
such  a fool  as  to  send  you  a valentine  ? I know  I ’d 
have  thought  a good  while  before  I’d  have  sent  you 
one,  or  if  I did,  I ’d  have  sent  you  one  of  a cross  cat.” 

“ Give  it  back  to  me ; how  dare  you  touch  it  ? ” cried 
Nan. 

“ I haven’t  got  it,”  said  Bill,  showing  his  empty 
hands. 

“ You  know  where  it  is, — give  it  back,  I say,  or  I ’ll 
tell  missus  on  you.” 

“ I haven’t  got  it,”  again  replied  Bill,  provokingly, 
but  at  the  same  time  glancing  up  at  the  highest  shelf 
in  the  shop,  where  a corner  of  the  book  was  to  be 
seen. 

“ Get  it  down,  this  minute,”  said  Nan,  stamping  her 
foot. 

“ I won’t ; I was  told  to  clean  up  shop,  and  if  you 
leave  your  things  littering  about,  of  course  I must  clean 
them  up  too.  If  you  want  it  you  can  get  it  yourself, 
see  there’s  something  you  can  stand  upon,”  and  he 
pointed  to  two  large  potato  baskets  standing  upside 
down,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other,  with  a sack  spread 
over  the  uppermost. 

Nan  laid  the  baby  down  on  the  floor  of  the  shop  and 
sprang  on  to  the  baskets.  Bill’s  trap  succeeded  per- 
fectly, for  in  another  moment  there  was  a crash,  and 


TURNED  OUT  OF  DOORS, . 


71 


Nan  disappeared,  only  one  foot  coming  out  on  the  other 
side  of  the  baskets,  as  she  rolled  round  and  round  in 
them  on  the  floor ; the  baskets  had  large  holes  in  them, 
\vhich  Bill  had  hidden  with  the  sack,  and  Nan’s  weight 
had  been  too  much  for  them.  She  screamed,  and  the 
baby  screamed  for  company,  and  Mrs  Jackson  came 
running  out  of  the  kitchen  to  see  what  was  the  matter ; 
she  only  found  Nan’s  head  and  feet  struggling  out  of 
the  two  ends  of  a great  basket,  while  Bill  stood  by  in 
roars  of  laughter  ; so  she  caught  up  the  baby,  pulled 
Nan  out  by  the  neck,  shook  her  and  scolded  her  for 
daring  to  touch  the  baskets,  without  listening  to  a word 
of  her  whimpering  defence,  and  told  Bill  to  mind  his 
own  business  and  not  stand  laughing  there  like  a fool. 
Bill  was  rather  sorry  when  he  saw  that  the  whole  blame 
was  falling  on  Nan,  but  to  make  up  to  her,  he  reached 
down  the  book,  which  contained  the  valentine,  and  car- 
ried it  into  the  kitchen  a few  minutes  afterwards.  Nan 
glared  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  anger  and  hatred,  and 
said  between  her  teeth,  “ I ’ll  serve  you  out,  see  if  I 
don’t;’’  but  Bill  knew  his  own  strength  and  only  laughed 
at  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


fjoKSt  to  3Ttt. 


“ Alas  ! for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity, 
Under  the  sun  ! 

Oh  ! it  was  pitiful ! 
Near  a whole  city  full, 
Home  she  had  none. 


“ Sisterly,  brotherly, 

Fatherly,  motherly 
Feelings  had  changed : 

Love,  by  harsh  evidence, 

Thrown  from  its  eminence  ; 
v Even  God’s  providence 

& Seeming  estranged.” — Tom  Hood. 

^ \ OOD  news  for  Nan  at  last ; Mr  Jackson 
4 was  going  to  take  his  wife  for  a long 
Sunday  excursion,  and  they  were  to  carry 
the  baby  with  them. 

“ Please,  ma’am,  may  I go  out  % ” said  Nan, 
tremblingly,  when  she  heard  the  announce- 


ment. 


“ Well,  I had  nearly  said  you  never  should 
again,  when  you  stopped  out  so  late  last  time  ; 
but  I dare  say  you  ’ll  only  get  into  mischief  if  I 
leave  you  at  home,  so  you  may  go  for  this  once ; 
only  mind,  if  you  ’re  out  a minute  after  eight 
o’clock,  you  ’ll  catch  it,”  replied  her  mistress. 


THIS  HOUSE  TO  LET 


73 


It  was  not  a very  gracious  consent,  but  Nan  was  glad 
enough  to  get  away ; and  if  she  might  only  see  Joey 
again,  and  show  him  the  fine  flowers  she  had  bought  to 
please  him,  she  did  not  mind  about  anything  else. 

Sunday  morning  came,  a fine,  and  almost  a hot  spring 
morning,  one  of  the  first  breaths  of  summer — the  trees 
were  beginning  to  come  out  in  the  pure,  bright  green, 
that  always  looks  so  strange  a contrast  to  the  sootiness 
and  dirt  of  London.  The  balconies  of  the  grand  houses 
were  filled  with  bright  flowers,  and  the  large  bunches 
of  daffodils  and  primroses,  which  were  sold  in  the 
Jacksons’  shop,  had  found  their  way  into  many  a small 
room,  to  tell  their  story  of  sunny  country  banks,  and 
country  woods,  where  they  had  grown.  The  whole 
world  seemed  to  be  rejoicing  in  the  spring-time,  and 
even  Nan’s  heart  was  lighter  than  usual,  and  she  was 
almost  happy.  Everything  was  going  smoothly  for  her 
— her  master  and  mistress  had  gone  quite  early;  Bill 
was  to  be  out  until  one  o'clock,  and  then  he  was  to 
come  in  and  mind  the  house,  while  she  wTent  for  her 
holiday;  and  she  had  plenty  to  do  in  the  meantime. 
As  soon  as  her  morning  work  was  over,  she  got  out  the 
treasured  roses,  and  began  to  put  them  in  her  bonnet. 
“ Two  outside,  and  the  rest  inside,  in  a wreath,  as  the 
ladies  have  them  ! ” she  whispered  to  herself,  as  she 
separated  the  large  flaunting  flowers  with  her  dirty 
fingers,  and  then  stitched  them  on  clumsily  to  her 
greasy,  battered,  black  bonnet. 


74 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER . 


u My  word,  it  does  look  fine ! ” she  said,  when  her 
task  was  completed ; “ won’t  the  people  stare  at  me,  and 
think  me  smart — I must  go  and  look  in  missus  glass 
down- stairs and  so  she  put  the  bonnet  on,  pushing 
her  untidy  hair  as  far  back  under  it  as  she  could,  and 
went  down  to  look  at  herself.  She  was  highly  pleased 
at  the  effect — for  she  had  no  one  to  tell  her  how 
tawdry  and  ugly  the  flowers  really  were,  and  how 
shabby  they  made  the  rest  of  her  dress  look. 

Just  as  she  was  turning  away  from  the  glass,  her  eye 
fell  on  a bright  green  scarf,  and  a large  gilt  brooch, 
which  belonged  to  her  mistress.  She  took  them  up, 
and  fingered  them  longingly.  “ Wouldn’t  they  be 
smart  ? ” she  thought.  “ Mistress  would  never  know 
if  I just  wore  them  to-day;  no  one  would  see ; and 
I could  put  them  back  before  she  gets  home.” 

She  only  doubted  for  one  moment,  then  the  green 
handkerchief  and  the  grand  gilt  brooch,  with  the  piece 
of  red  glass  in  the  middle  of  it,  were  added  to  her  dress; 
and  with  some  apples  and  nuts  in  her  pocket,  she  was 
soon  standing  on  the  doorstep  waiting  for  Bill  to  come 
in.  Not  long  after  the  clock  struck  one,  he  made  his 
appearance.  But  when  he  caught  sight  of  Nan,  he  burst 
out,  laughing  : “ Why,  what  have  you  been  doing  to 
yourself,  you  fright  1”  he  cried  ; “ are  you  going  to  be 
put  up  to  frighten  the  birds  away  anywhere  1 ” 

Nan  was  ready  to  cry  with  vexation  ; but  then  she 
remembered  for  her  comfort  that  Bill  was  always  rude ; 


THIS  HOUSE  TO  LET. 


75 


and  she  was  turning  scornfully  away  from  him  without 
speaking,  when  the  boy  caught  sight  of  Mrs  Jackson’s 
brooch. 

“ Why,  you  Ve  been  stealing  missus’s  brooch,  I do 
declare  ! ” 

“ No  ! I haven’t,”  said  Nan,  with  the  colour  rushing 
into  her  cheek. 

“ Then  how  did  you  get  it ; for  I ’ll  swear  that ’s 
hers  anywhere  ! ” 

“ She  lent  it  to  me,”  said  Nan,  in  a very  confused 
voice,  and  then  she  hurried  away,  while  Bill  shouted 
after  her,  “ I don’t  believe  that ; I ’ll  ask  her  the 
minute  she  comes  in.” 

As  Nan  had  expected,  the  people  certainly  did  stare 
at  her  as  she  took  her  long  walk.  She  was  a strange 
figure,  with  her  shabby  dress,  her  old  ragged  shawl,  her 
dingy  bonnet,  with  its  gaudy  red  and  white  roses,  and 
the  bright  green  scarf  and  large  brooch.  Some  laughed 
at  her,  some  spoke  to  her,  but  she  stopped  for  none  of 
them — she  was  only  bent  on  reaching  Jubilee  Place  as 
soon  as  possible.  She  had  forgotten  all  about  the  dis- 
appointment of  last  time,  she  thought  of  nothing  but  of 
Joey  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  of  the  apples  and  nuts  she 
had  stolen  for  him,  of  what  he  would  say  to  the  finery, 
which  she  had  gone  through  so  much  trouble  to  procure. 

The  walk  seemed  longer  than  before,  she  was  so  im- 
patient to  get  to  the  end  of  it,  for  she  hoped  to  catch 
Joey  before  he  went  to  his  Sunday-school ; perhaps  he 


76 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


would  give  up  going  that  afternoon,  and  she  would  get 
him  to  come  out  with  her. 

Jubilee  Place  at  last  ! Nan  almost  ran  up  the  street, 
she  was  so  glad  to  get  there.  What  was  it  she  saw 
when  she  reached  No.  22  that  made  her  clasp  her 
hands,  and  utter  that  short,  sharp  cry  ? only  the  shut- 
ters shut,  and  a white  paper  in  one  of  the  windows, 
with  This  House  to  Let  printed  on  it  in  large  letters. 
Only  that ; but  those  four  words  were  enough.  They 
told  Nan  that  all  her  finery  was  of  no  use ; that  she  had 
stolen  the  money,  the  brooch,  the  apples,  and  had  got 
poor  Peter  sent  away  for  nothing,  for  Joey  was  gone. 
All  her  wild,  fierce  nature  burst  out  then  in  an  angry 
howl,  which  made  the  few  people  who  were  in  the 
street  turn  round  and  look  at  her. 

“ What ’s  the  matter  ? ” said  one,  in  a half-curious, 
half-pitying  voice. 

There  was  no  answer,  the  girl  was  ringing  loudly  at 
the  door-bell,  and  the  sound  was  echoing  through  the 
empty  house. 

“ Is  she  mad  ] ” said  another. 

“ She  looks  like  it — look  at  them  flowers  !” 

“ Poor  girl,  she  ’s  in  real  trouble,  whatever  it 
is,”  said  a woman,  more  tender-hearted  than  the  rest. 
“ What  is  it,  my  dear;  don’t  you  see  the  house  is 
empty  V’ 

Then  Nan  turned  round,  with  her  face  all  flushed, 
her  eyes  scared  and  bewildered,  and  her  hands  trem- 


THIS  HOUSE  TO  LET. 


77 


bling.  u Where’s  my  Joey  she  cried,  as  she  stood 
facing  the  little  crowd  of  by-standers. 

“ Her  Joe,”  said  a man,  who  was  standing  near,  with 
a short  pipe  in  his  mouth  ; and  he  laughed  mockingly. 
“ Well,  has  he  left  you  ? you ’d  better  get  somebody 
else,  my  girl,  I should  think.” 

“ Hush  ! can’t  you  ? — the  girl ’s  half  wild.”  The 
kindly  woman  said  again,  “ Who ’s  Joey,  my  dear  V' 
“Where’s  he  gone1?”  said  Nan,  stretching  out  her 
hands  piteously,  at  the  sound  of  a voice  less  harsh  than 
she  was  accustomed  to. 

“ Is  it  little  Joe  Downing,  you  mean  1 I don’t  know 
in  the  least  where  he  is ; they  ;ve  all  been  gone  this 
fortnight.  Downing,  he  got  some  work  in  the  country 
somewhere ; I don’t  know  where,  but  it  was  too  far  for 
him  to  come  back,  so  they  ’ve  cleared  off,  the  whole  lot 
of  them.  Was  Joey  any  relation  of  yours  V9 

“ He  was  my  brother,  he  was,”  said  Nan ; “ and 
that ’s  a wicked,  bad  man  to  have  took  him  off  and 
never  told  me.”  Then  all  her  angry  words  failed  her 
suddenly.  She  sat  down  on  the  step  of  the  empty 
house,  and  laid  her  head  on  her  arms,  sobbing  as  if 
her  heart  would  break.  The  sight  of  sorrow  is  seldom 
interesting  to  a crowd  when  its  curiosity  is  satisfied, 
and  with  a pitying  word  or  two,  the  people  all  moved 
off,  and  Nan  was  left  alone  to  her  grief.  How  long 
she  cried,  she  did  not  know  or  care;  she  was  half 
stupid  with  it,  when  at  last  she  raised  her  head  and 


78 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


saw,  by  the  golden  glow  which  had  caught  the  windows 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  that  the  sun  was 
setting.  As  yet  she  had  been  too  much  taken  up  with 
the  bitterness  of  the  feeling  that  Joey  was  gone,  and 
that  she  should  not  see  him  any  more,  to  think  much 
about  what  she  was  going  to  do ; but  the  closing  day 
reminded  her  of  the  time  for  returning,  and  that,  before 
]ong,  she  would  be  expected  at  Mrs  Jackson’s.  Then, 
as  if  with  Joey’s  departure,  all  her  strength  and  hope 
had  departed  too,  she  remembered,  with  a sudden 
pang  of  fear,  the  brooch  and  the  apples,  and  Bill’s 
parting  threat  that  he  would  tell  “ the  missus.”  He 
was  a cruel  boy,  and  he  would  be  sure  to  do  it ; and 
Nan’s  heart  beat  faster  with  a guilty  terror.  She  felt 
as  if  she  could  even  now  hear  her  mistress’s  angry  words ; 
as  if  she  could  feel  the  policeman’s  hand  on  her,  drag- 
ing her  off  to  prison,  as  she  had  seen  him  dragging  a 
man  only  two  or  three  days  before,  and  a sudden  deter- 
mination came  into  her  mind  never  to  go  back  any 
more.  She  would  beg ; she  would  starve  rather  than 
return  to  her  place  to  meet  the  punishment  which  she 
knew  only  too  well  she  deserved.  She  rose  up, 
trembling  all  over  with  the  violence  of  her  crying  and 
the  terror  which  had  laid  such  hold  upon  her,  and  with 
feeble,  tottering  footsteps  walked  down  the  street.  She 
did  not  know  at  first  where  she  was  going,  but  fright 
seemed  to  urge  her  on,  to  get  away  as  far  as  possible 
from  any  chance  of  being  found,  and  she  soon  began  to 


J' 


There  came  a sound  of  soft,  sweet  music  out  through  the  open  windows, 
then  a burst  of  voices  singing.” — Page  79. 


THIS  HOUSE  TO  LET 


79 


walk  faster,  wondering  where  she  could  find  a sleeping- 
place  for  the  night.  On  and  on  she  went, — while  the 
sunlight  all  faded  away,  the  twilight  became  gray  and 
then  dark,  and  the  lamps  were  lit, — on  through  the 
unfamiliar  streets,  through  the  crowds  of  unknown 
faces,  on  past  the  churches  where  service  was  being 
performed,  and  people  were  asking  God  to  “ lighten 
their  darkness,  and  defend  them  from  all  the  perils  and 
dangers  of  that  night.”  Once,  as  she  came  near  a 
church  and  saw  the  bright  flood  of  light  from  it  shining 
across  the  street,  she  stopped  for  a minute,  leaning 
against  the  railings ; she  did  not  know  till  then  how 
tired  she  was,  but  she  felt  when  she  stood  still  as  if 
she  could  not  move  another  step.  There  came  a sound 
of  soft,  sweet  music  out  through  the  open  windows, 
then  a burst  of  voices  singing — “ I will  arise  and  go 
to  my  Father,  and  will  say  to  Him,  I have  sinned.” 
Nan  had  never  heard  such  sweeu  singing  as  that;  she 
raised  her  head  that  she  might  catch  the  words,  and 
for  a moment  there  came  to  her  a yearning  longing 
that  she  could  go  to  some  one  and  say,  “ I have  sinned 
tell  out  all  her  miserable  story,  and  then  lie  down  at 
their  feet.  But  there  was  no  one  in  all  the  world  to 
whom  she  could  go,  and  she  believed  God  was  angry  with 
her,  if  He  thought  of  her  at  all,  for  she  had  been  doing 
all  manner  of  bad  things,  stealing  and  telling  lies  and 
getting  Peter  into  trouble ; and  all  she  knew  of  God 
was  that  she  thought  He  sent  bad  people  like  her  to 


80 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


hell,  and  took  good  people  like  the  grand  ladies  in 
church,  who  had  no  temptations  to  steal  or  tell  lies, 
to  heaven.  She  did  not  know,  poor,  lonely,  miserable 
child,  that  He  was  the  Father  to  whom  she  could  arise 
and  go  with  her  sad  story  of  sin ; that  He  heard  her 
short,  gasping  sobs  as  she  leant  against  the  church- 
railings,  just  as  much  as  He  heard  the  well-dressed 
people  who  were  singing  inside  ; that  He  loved  her 
just  as  much  as  He  loved  them  ; and  that  His  angels 
would  sing  for  joy  whenever  she  gave  herself  up  to  that 
love,  and  turned  from  her  bad  ways. 

Ho ! she  knew  nothing  of  all  this  yet ; but  as  she 
heard  footsteps  coming  near,  she  looked  quickly  round, 
and,  catching  sight  of  a policeman,  felt  all  the  terror 
rushing  back  upon  her, — thought  that  for  certain  he 
had  been  sent  by  Mr  Jackson,  and  was  coming  after 
her, — and  hurried  away,  as  fast  as  her  tired  feet  would 
carry  her,  down  a dark  narrow  street  which  was  near 
the  church.  She  did  not  know  where  it  led,  but  she 
soon  found  herself  near  the  river — the  great,  broad 
river,  where  the  lights  from  the  city  were  reflected,  and 
the  dark  barges  were  floating  slowly  up  and  down.  She 
had  not  seen  the  river  since  she  had  heard  about  the 
boy  who  was  found  drowned,  and,  as  she  stood  beside 
it  now,  gazing  down  into  the  slow  and  silently  flowing 
water,  she  half  expected  to  see  Peter’s  face,  all  white 
and  ghastly,  looking  up  at  her.  She  glanced  round 
guiltily,  to  see  if  the  policeman  was  following  her ; 


THIS  HOUSE  TO  LET. 


81 


then,  seeing  no  one  near,  she  gazed  again  into  the  dark 
water.  “Oh!  Peter,”  she  muttered,  “and  it  was  all 
no  good;  and  Joey  never  saw  the  roses.”  And  she 
snatched  off  her  bonnet  with  angry  fingers,  tore  the 
flowers  from  it,  biting  them  when  the  thread  would  not 
break  easily,  clenched  them  up  in  her  hands,  and  threw 
them  far  off  into  the  water,  where  they  floated  away 
into  the  darkness.  No  one  could  find  out  now  how  the 
stolen  money  had  been  spent,  at  any  rate.  Then  she 
took  off  the  scarf  and  the  brooch,  and  thought  she  would 
throw  them  after  the  roses ; but  the  lamp-light  fell  just 
then  on  the  glittering  red  glass,  and  it  looked  so  pretty 
and  so  fine  that  Nan  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to 
part  with  it.  She  thrust  it  hastily  into  the  bosom  of 
her  dress,  and  threw  away  the  scarf  only. 

On  again,  then,  over  the  bridge  which  crossed  the 
water — on  across  more  wharves,  and  past  landing-places 
and  more  narrow  streets,  still  keeping  near  the  river,  as 
if  it  were  a friend  who  could  shield  her,  if  the  dreaded 
policeman  came.  But  at  last  hunger,  and  weariness,  and 
cold,  became  too  much  for  the  girl,  and  she  felt  she 
could  go  no  farther.  Where  could  she  sleep?  She 
looked  about  eagerly,  and  saw  that  she  was  near  a rail- 
way bridge.  There  were  great  arches  underneath  the 
railway — surely  no  one  would  see  her  there.  She  crept 
under  one  of  them,  and  stretched  herself  on  the  ground, 
with  her  back  against  the  brick  wall.  It  was  not  a very 
comfortable  bed,  but  she  hardly  felt  that.  She  drew 

F 


82 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


out  the  apples  which  she  had  got  for  Joey,  and  ate  them. 
Then,  by  degrees,  she  began  to  get  drowsy,  and  was  just 
falling  into  a sound  sleep  when  a hand  was  laid  on 
her  shoulder,  a light  flashed  in  her  eyes,  and,  looking 
up,  she  saw  the  much-dreaded  policeman  at  last.  With 
a frightened  07-  she  sprang  up,  thinking  that  the  worst 
had  come — that  all  wTas  found  out — that  he  was  there 
to  carry  her  away  to  prison. 

“ Let  me  go — let  me  go ! ” she  gasped  out.  “I  did 
not  mean  any  harm.” 

“ Perhaps  not,  young  woman,  but  you’d  better  move 
on ; this  isn’t  any  place  for  you  to  be  sleeping  in.  If 
you  han’t  got  no  place  to  sleep  in,  you ’d  best  go  to  the 
nearest  workhouse.” 

And,  to  Nan’s  great  relief,  he  took  his  hand  off  her 
shoulder,  and  pointed  onwards.  He  had  not  come  on 
purpose  to  look  for  her,  then.  He  was  not  sent  by  Mrs 
Jackson.  He  did  not  know  that  she  was  a thief ; and  he 
only  meant  that  she  was  not  to  sleep  there.  Nan  took 
fresh  courage,  and  walked  away  out  of  his  sight.  She 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  the  workhouse — she  would 
have  to  obey  some  one  there,  and  she  wanted  to  be  free 
— she  would  have  to  work  there,  and  she  wanted  to  be 
idle.  She  would  not  go  to  it  at  present,  at  any  rate. 
And  so,  she  wandered  on,  wondering  if  she  could  man- 
age to  walk  about  all  night.  The  moon  was  shining  now, 
and  she  stopped  to  watch  the  long  quivering  line  of 
light,  which  lay  across  the  water,  and  shone  on  the  tall, 


THIS  HOUSE  TO  LET. 


83 


skeleton-like  masts  of  the  ships.  She  was  standing  on 
a broad  road  by  the  river,  and  just  before  her  was  a 
stonemason’s  yard.  It  was  full  of  white  stones — some 
cut  into  gravestones,  some  in  huge  uncut  blocks.  The 
wall  which  surrounded  it  was  a little  broken  down  in 
one  place.  She  could  creep  in  there,  perhaps,  and  be 
hidden.  The  policeman  was  not  likely  to  come  after 
her  amongst  the  tombstones ; and  she  would  be  sure 
to  wake  up  early,  and  get  away  before  the  workmen 
came. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


®Iu  Sffiorkljoust  again. 

Never  a sigh  of  passion,  or  of  pity  ; 

Never  a wail  for  weakness,  or  for  wrong ; 

Has  not  its  archive  in  the  angels’  city  ; 

Finds  not  its  echo  in  the  endless  song.” 

—F.  W.  H.  Myers. 

HE  moon  was  shining  down  full  on  the 
yard  as  the  shabby  little  figure  crept 
in  amongst  the  gravestones  to  seek  for 
shelter,  and  the  silvery  light  made  the 
place  look  rather  ghostly  as  it  touched  all  the 
white  images  and  figures.  There  was  an  angel 
yfe  blowing  a trumpet,  and  looking  a3  if  he  was 
blowing  it  at  Nan  in  a fierce,  reproving  way 
as  she  came  towards  him  ; there  was  a drooping 
figure  with  a hidden  face  clinging  to  a broken 
pillar,  Nan  half  expected  the  face  to  be  lifted  all 
white  and  wan  and  turned  towards  her;  there 
were  coffin-shaped  stones,  and  pure  white  crosses, 
and  stones  with  little  cherubs’  heads  on  them, 
and  somehow  these  last  brought  to  Nan’s  mind 
a remembrance  of  Mrs  Jackson’s  baby,  of  how 


THE  WORKHOUSE  AGAIN. 


85 


she  had  loved  it,  and  held  it  in  her  arms  and  sung 
to  it,  of  how  it  had  learnt  to  know  her,  and  to 
smile  for  her,  and  to  crow  at  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
and  it  was  a fresh  pain,  but  not  a fierce,  bitter  one  like 
all  the  rest,  that  came  with  the  remembrance  that  she 
was  to  see  it  no  more. 

“ Will  it  miss  me,  I wonder?  ” she  said  to  herself,  as 
she  crept  under  the  shelter  of  two  large  slabs  of  stone 
that  were  put  slantingly  against  a working  bench,  and 
wrapping  her  shawl  more  closely  round  her,  and  think- 
ing of  the  baby  arms  that  used  to  steal  about  her  neck, 
and  the  baby  lips  that  used  to  kiss  her  cheeks,  Nan 
closed  her  eyes  for  the  second  time,  and  slept  the  sleep 
which  only  the  utterly  weary  and  exhausted  ones 
amongst  us  can  know. 

When  the  morning  dawned,  the  early  sun  awoke  her 
before  any  one  came  into  the  yard,  and  she  stole  out 
from  amongst  the  stones,  feeling  very  stiff  and  cold, 
but  not  so  tired  as  she  had  done  the  night  before. 
There  were  very  few  people  about  on  the  road,  some 
men  going  to  their  work,  some  market-carts  laden  with 
fruit  and  vegetables,  some  waggons  piled  with  cab- 
bages, some  few  waifs  and  strays  like  Nan  herself,  who 
had  slept  about  in  any  nooks  they  could  find,  and  who 
had  begun  to  “ move  on  ” for  the  day.  Where  were 
they  moving  to  ? Where  was  Nan  to  move  to,  during 
all  those  long  hours  ? She  did  not  know  ; she  had  not 
begun  to  think  much  about  it,  she  only  felt  anxious 


86 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


to  put  as  many  miles  as  possible  between  herself  and 
Mrs  Jackson.  The  fresh  morning  air  seemed  to  make 
her  happier,  the  trouble  of  yesterday  seemed  to  have 
hardened  and  become  part  of  all  that  which  had  gone 
before  ; the  fear  of  the  policeman  had  grown  less,  and 
she  actually  began  to  wronder  whether  she  could  find 
another  place.  In  one  of  the  streets  through  which  she 
walked,  she  saw  a baker’s  shop,  where  there  was  a 
register  office  for  servants  kept,  and  she  went  in.  The 
mistress  was  standing  behind  the  counter,  a stout,  red- 
faced  woman,  who  looked  as  if  she  was  generally 
minding  the  ovens,  and  was  then  engaged  in  piling  a 
tray  with  hot  rolls  for  the  morning  customers.  Two  or 
three  people  were  waiting  to  be  served,  and  Nan  slunk 
behind  them,  until  the  baker’s  wife  caught  sight  of  her. 

“Now  then,  young  woman,  what  for  you?”  she 
asked,  not  in  the  sweetest  of  tones,  for  Nan  did  not 
look  the  kind  of  customer  to  do  credit  to  her  shop. 

“ I want  to  get  a place,”  said  Nan.  w I want  to  be 
a nursemaid,  or  mind  a house.” 

The  baker’s  wife  laughed.  “ I don’t  know  of  any 
places  for  the  like  of  you,  my  girl ; where ’s  your  char- 
acter from  your  last  ? — and  where  is  the  half-crown  to 
pay  for  putting  your  name  down  on  my  books  ? ” 

Nan  had  nothing  to  answer  to  this,  and  hung  her 
head. 

“ It ’s  hard  enough  to  find  work  for  respectable  girls,” 
went  on  the  shopwoman,  loudly,  “ let  alone  getting  it 


THE  WORKHOUSE  AGAIN.  87 

for  your  kind.  No  ; be  off  witli  you,  and  take  my  ad- 
vice, and  clean  yourself  up  a bit  before  you  go  looking 
for  a place;  a great  tall  girl  like  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  be  such  a slattern,”  and  she  went  on  tossing 
the  rolls  out  of  a large  basket  on  to  the  tray  without 
taking  any  further  notice  of  her.  Nan  did  not  stir ; 
when  the  woman  looked  up  again,  and  saw  her  still 
standing  there,  she  said,  more  angrily,  “ Haven’t  I told 
you  I can’t  do  anything  for  you  % go  away  directly.” 

“ A bit  of  bread,  ma’am,  ever  such  a little  bit  of 
bread,  ma’am,  I ’m  so  hungry,”  said  Nan,  wistfully  look- 
ing at  all  the  piles  and  rows  of  fresh-baked  loaves. 

“ Not  a morsel.  Do  you  suppose  we  ’re  up  all  night 
to  bake  bread  for  your  sort,  that’s  too  lazy  or  too 
wicked  to  work  for  it  ? Go  and  earn  your  bread,  girl, 
and  don’t  beg  it.  I ’d  be  ashamed  if  I was  you.” 

Nan  still  lingered  a minute, — “ I be  so  hungry,”  she 
said  once  more. 

“ Will  you  go,”  said  the  baker’s  wife  again,  and  more 
fiercely,  as  she  was  struck  afresh  with  Nan’s  slatternly 
appearance ; “if  you  don’t  move  on  this  moment  I ’ll 
send  for  a policeman.” 

That  was  enough  for  Nan  ; at  the  dreaded  word,  she 
left  the  shop  directly.  What  a long,  weary  day  it  was 
as  she  wandered  about  through  the  streets — no  day  of 
work  had  ever  seemed  so  long  as  that  day  of  idleness. 
She  walked  till  she  could  walk  no  longer;  then  she 
threw  herself  down  on  the  grass  in  one  of  the  parks  to 


88 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER . 


rest : then  she  got  up  and  wandered  on  again  restlessly, 
till  evening  drew  near,  and  she  began  to  wonder  where 
she  was  to  sleep.  She  was  too  far  from  the  friendly 
tombstones  to  make  her  way  back  to  them,  and  she 
knew  of  no  other  shelter ; the  rain  was  beginning  to 
fall,  so  that  the  first  feeling  of  summer  went  away,  and 
it  became  cold,  and  almost  winterly. 

Nan  thought  of  the  great  brooch  which  she  was 
carrying  in  her  dress,  but  the  fear  of  the  policeman 
prevented  her  from  taking  it  into  a pawnbroker’s  shop ; 
and  with  the  night  shadows,  which  were  stealing  on, 
this  fear  became  greater,  so  that  she  left  the  more  fre- 
quented places,  and  stole  into  the  dark,  narrow  streets 
and  by-ways,  where  there  were  more  shabby  people 
like  herself.  She  stretched  out  her  hand  to  two  or 
three  of  the  passers-by — with  the  usual  beggar’s  whine 
— of  “ a penny  to  buy  a bit  of  bread — I ’m  so  hungry  *” 
but  in  her  case  the  words  were  true,  which  in  too  many 
cases  are  not.  She  would  literally  have  bought  bread 
if  she  had  been  given  money,  many  another  would  have 
turned  into  the  nearest  public-house,  and  bought  a little 
of  the  fierce  burning  spirit,  which  would  warm  and 
comfort  them  for  the  moment,  and  then  leave  them 
more  hungry,  more  craving,  more  wretched  than  ever ; 
but  Nan  knew  nothing  of  that  mock  comfort  as  yet. 

At  last,  too  tired  and  exhausted  to  walk  any  farther, 
she  leaned  against  a lamp-post,  which  stood  just  oppo- 
site to  one  of  the  brightly-lighted  gin-palaces.  A sound 


THE  WORKHOUSE  AGAIN. 


89 


of  singing  came  from  it.  Nan  could  hear  a woman’s 
voice  singing  loudly ; but  it  seemed  to  be  a long  way 
off.  The  tune  seemed  to  beat  itself  into  her  brain,  and 
her  head  went  round  and  round  to  it.  Sometimes, 
when  it  ceased  for  a moment,  there  came  loud  clapping 
and  applause,  and  then  it  would  go  on  again. 

“ Were  they  very  happy,  those  people  ? ” Nan  won- 
dered, as  the  great  glass-door  swung  open  for  a moment, 
and  let  a blaze  of  light  out  into  the  street,  and  peals  of 
laughter  came  with  it. 

The  singing  had  ceased,  or  else  Nan  had  lost  all 
power  of  hearing  it.  She  felt  quite  faint  and  dizzy, 
and  would  have  fallen  down  if  she  had  not  been  caught 
by  some  one,  and  brought  back  to  her  senses,  by  a loud, 
rough  laugh.  She  opened  her  eyes,  and  turned  them 
round,  in  a bewildered  way,  on  the  person  who  was 
supporting  her.  It  was  a girl,  a year  or  two  older  than 
herself — a girl,  whose  face  might  have  been  pleasant  to 
look  at  when  she  was  a little  child — for  she  had  a 
bright  colour,  and  dark  bright  eyes,  and  wavy  brown 
hair ; but  the  story  of  our  lives  writes  itself  too  plainly 
in  our  faces ; if  our  lives  are  bad,  and  unloving,  and 
ungentle,  our  faces  will  become  bad,  and  unloving,  and 
ungentle  too.  And  this  girl’s  face  had  become  like  her 
life — bad,  and  bold,  and  fierce  ; but  still  she  was  not  all 
bad,  or  she  would  not  have  minded  about  Nan’s  pale 
face  and  tottering  limbs ; she  would  not  have  stretched 
out  her  hand  to  keep  her  from  falling ; and  she  would 


90 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


not  liave  kept  her  arm  round  her,  though  she  did  laugh 
at  her. 

“ What ’s  wrong  with  you  ? ” she  said.  “ My  word, 
but  you  look  sick ! ” 

Nan  tried  to  speak,  but  her  white  lips  could  not 
frame  the  words. 

“ Here,  have  you  got  any  money  about  you  V'  said  her 
new  friend  ; “ just  a copper  or  two  would  get  you  a little 
drop;  that  would  set  you  up.  How  much  have  you  got  ?” 

“ Nothing  ! ” gasped  Nan. 

“ Where  are  you  going  to  ?” 

“ Nowhere.” 

“ Got  nothing,  and  going  nowhere ; why  that ’s  just 
like  me — we  ’re  sailing  in  one  boat,  you  may  say — steady 
there ; stick  up,  I say” — for  Nan’s  head  was  falling  on 
her  shoulder.  “ Here,  Ned,”  she  cried,  to  a man  who  was 
going  into  the  public-house,  and  whom  she  evidently 
knew,  “ bring  us  out  a little  drop  of  spirits.” 

“Not  a drop,  ’Melia;  you’ve  had  quite  a plenty,  I 
expect,”  said  the  man,  with  a sneering  laugh. 

“It’s  not  for  myself,  Ned;  not  this  time:  don’t 
you  see  here ’s  a girl  dying  for  want  of  it.  Now,  do  ; 
there ’s  a good  lad — just  ever  so  little.” 

One  glance  at  the  pale  face,  which  was  leaning 
against  ’Melia,  looking  so  pitifully  white  and  wasted  in 
the  lamplight,  with  all  the  damp  hair  clinging  about  it, 
was  enough  for  the  man  : he  brought  out  a small  glass 
of  gin,  which  ’Melia  made  Nan  swallow,  and  though  it 


THE  WORKHOUSE  AGAIN. 


91 


seemed  to  burn  her  throat  like  liquid  fire,  it  partly 
revived  her,  and  she  presently  opened  her  eyes,  and 
tried  to  stagger  on  out  of  ’Melia’s  grasp. 

“ Where  are  you  off  to  % ” laughed  the  girl ; “ I 
thought  you  said  you ’d  nowhere  to  go.” 

“No!  I haven’t. 

“ Well,  I ’d  advise  you  stay,  and  lark  about  the  streets 
with  me  a bit,  and  watch  the  people — only  it’s  wet, 
and  it ’s  cold,  and  the  rain  would  spoil  our  clothes  ; 
ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ” and  the  girl  pointed  to  her  own  rags 
and  Nan’s,  with  a wild,  scornful  laugh.  “ So  come 
along  with  me  to  the  workhouse ; on  a wet  night  like 
this,  I generally  turns  in  there.” 

“ No  ! no  ! not  the  house,”  said  Nan,  shrinking  from 
her  ; “ not  that.” 

“ Why  not  ? You  ’ll  get  some  food  and  a bed,  if  you 
have  a bit  of  work  to  do  for  it.  I ’ll  tell  you  what  it 
is,  you  ’re  in  trouble ; that ’s  what  you  are.  I ’d  lay  ten 
to  one,  you  ’ve  run  away ; now,  haven’t  you  1 ” 

“ What ’s  that  to  you  h ” said  Nan,  sullenly. 

“ Oh  ! I don’t  want  to  pry  into  any  secrets,  of  course 
— I beg  your  pardon,”  ’Melia  answered,  mockingly ; 
“ .but  I ’m  up  to  the  sort  of  thing — don’t  want  to  go  to 
the  workhouse,  because  queer  questions  will  maybe  be 
asked.  What ’s  your  parish  ? where  did  you  live  ? 
That ’s  it  now ; isn’t  it  ? I thought  so,”  as  by  the 
lamplight  she  saw  that  Nan  was  colouring.  “ Well, 
I ’ll  put  you  up  to  the  dodge.  Mind  you  say  you  come 


92 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


from  this  parish — parents  is  dead,  been  out  at  place, 
missus  is  gone  into  the  country — that's  the  kind  of 
thing.  Come  along,  we  're  getting  so  wet.” 

The  rain  came  down  just  then  heavier  than  before, 
and  Nan  was  too  tired,  too  hungry,  too  worn-out  to 
resist  even  the  workhouse, — so  she  let  'Melia  draw  her 
arm  within  her  own,  and  half  lead  and  half  drag  her 
there, — 'Melia  every  now  and  then  bursting  into  a 
laugh  when  a light  shone  on  Nan's  face.  “ I look  as  if 
I was  dragging  a death's  head  along  with  me,”  she  said. 

“ Come,  I say,  now  don't  die  here — it  would  be  so 
unpleasant  ” — and  then  she  burst  into  a loud  song — 
partly  by  way  of  rousing  her  companion,  partly  to 
attract  attention,  and  partly  because,  as  she  said, 

“ she’d  like  to  sing  now,  for  soon  she'd  not  get  the 
chance.” 

“ Was  it  you  was  singing  inside  there  'l  ” asked  Nan. 

“ Yes,  of  course  ; that's  the  way  I earns  my  living — 
singing  about  at  all  sorts  of  places.  Why,  I am  quite  a 
professional.  Lots  of  'em  says,  they 'd  sooner  hear  me 
nor  Jenny  Linny,  or  whatever  they  call  that  fine  # 
singer.” 

Ten  minutes  walking  brought  them  to  the  great  door 
of  the  workhouse,  where  there  was  a little  throng  of 
miserable  people  already  waiting  for  admission  for  the 
night.  'Melia  dragged  Nan  in  amongst  the  crowd,  and 
told  her  made-up  story  for  her,  when  the  door  was 
opened.  They  were  admitted  together,  the  great  door 


THE  WORKHOUSE  AGAIN. 


93 


was  closed  again,  and,  for  the  second  time,  Nan  was  in 
the  workhouse. 

She  was  not  questioned  closely  as  to  her  story  that 
night,  and  being  utterly  tired  out,  she  soon  fell  asleep 
on  her  bed  in  the  casual  ward,  for  she  felt  too  sick  and 
exhausted  to  care  about  the  food  that  was  given  her. 

The  next  day,  when  her  case  was  brought  before  the 
Board  of  Guardians,  she  again  told  the  story  which 
Amelia  had  made  up  for  her — brazening  out  the  false- 
hood about  her  life,  and  being  so  circumstantial  in 
her  details,  all  of  which  Amelia  confirmed,  that  she 
satisfied  the  Board,  and  was  regularly  admitted  as  an 
inmate  of  the  young  women’s  ward.  She  had  been  too 
much  frightened  by  the  actual  starvation  which  had 
stared  her  in  the  face,  to  venture  out  again  for  some 
time. 


PART  II. 


CHAPTER  X. 


SSfarg  tlje  llefo  SSarirtr. 

“ So  go  thou  in,  saint — sister— comforter ! ” 

— Poems  by  Author  of  “ John  Halifax.” 

“ Therefore  with  set  face  and  with  smiling  bitter 
Took  she  the  anguish,  carried  it  apart — 

Ah ! to  what  friend  to  speak  it?  it  were  fitter 
Thrust  in  the  aching  hollows  of  her  heart.” 

— F.  W.  II.  Myers. 

MONTH  went  by  and  Nan  was  still  in 
__  * the  workhouse.  It  was  a month  spent 

lix  by  her  in  a good  deal  of  trouble,  partly 

J through  the  effects  of  her  own  bad  temper,  and 
Jl,  partly  through  the  influence  of  the  company 
i into  which  she  had  fallen.  She  was  lazy  and 
4 would  not  do  her  work ; she  was  saucy  when 
1 she  was  reproved  ; she  was  sullen  when  she 
h was  spoken  to  by  the  other  inmates  ; and,  in 
company  with  those  who  like  herself  were  in 
the  workhouse  because  they  had  nowhere  else 
to  go,  she  heard  more  of  wickedness  than  she 
had  known  before,  picked  up  bad  language  only 
^ too  quickly,  and  was  in  a fair  way  to  become, 
as  bad  as  the  worst  of  them.  But  what  did  it 

G 


98 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


matter  ? there  was  no  one  to  care  what  she  be- 
came. So  Nan  thought.  So  we,  too  many  of  us, 
think  in  our  ignorance  and  blindness  of  heart,  but  it 
does  matter  how  we  are  living.  There  is  One  who  cares 
about  everything  we  say  or  do ; and  who  is  grieved  to 
see  us  sin — we  who  are  created  in  His  image,  and 
who  He  asks  to  come  to  Him.  It  is  not  too  late  for 
any  one  of  us  to  come  to  Him ; the  greater  our 
need,  the  more  He  is  willing  to  give  us  His  help. 
How  different  a workhouse  would  be,  if  all  who  are 
inmates  of  it  would  remember  that  they  are  brothers 
and  sisters  of  one  great  family,  having  one  Father  who 
loves  them  all  alike.  They  may  be  suffering  brothers 
and  sisters, — their  very  presence  in  the  ^workhouse 
seems  to  tell  that  they  must  be  in  some  sort  of  trouble, 
— but  if  all  there,  instead  of  speaking  bad,  fierce  words, 
and  instead  of  fighting  with  each  other,  would  try, 
for  God’s  sake,  what  a few  kind  words,  what  a little 
patience  and  a little  sympathy,  would  do,  it  would 
soon  cease  to  be  the  miserable  abode  which  it  sometimes 
is,  and  the  u refractory  ward  ” would  more  often  be 
empty.  It  is  in  that  same  refractory  ward  that  we 
next  meet  Nan,  and  it  was  a place  she  began  to  know 
only  too  well. 

“ Ah  ! girls,  here  she  is  ; I said  she ’d  soon  be 
in  again/’  whispered  ’Melia  Simson,  with  a chuckle 
as  the  door  of  the  ward  was  opened  one  morning 
and  Nan  Downing  was  pushed  in,  struggling  and 


MARY  HILTON,  THE  NEW  WARDER.  99 


crying.  She  screamed  as  the  door  was  shut  and 
locked  again,  and  all  the  other  girls  who  were  there 
for  bad  conduct  also,  about  eight  in  number,  gathered 
round  her. 

4 4 What’s  the  row?” — 4 4 Wouldn’t  you  do  your  work  ? ” 
— 44  Was  it  Jones  got  you  put  in  ? ” were  the  eager 
questions  poured  out. 

But  Nan  only  sobbed  for  answer ; the  warder,  who 
sat  at  her  work  in  a tiny  cell  which  opened  from  the 
long,  low  room,  now  came  in.  She  was  a grim  woman, 
who  had  difficult  work  to  do  in  keeping  all  these 
naughty  girls  in  order,  and  who  contented  herself  with 
treating  them  as  naughty  girls,  and  never  tried  to 
make  them  any  better. 

44  Go  back  to  your  work,  girls,”  she  said,  pointing  to 
the  heap  of  oakum  on  the  floor  which  they  were 
picking. 

44 We  were  only  speaking  to  Nan.  I’m  certain  one 
of  them ’s  been  hurting  her,”  said  Amelia,  sullenly. 

44 1 daresay  she  deserved  it ; she ’s  a very  bad  girl,” 
said  Mrs  Thorn,  the  warder. 

44  They  shouldn’t  hurt  us,”  shouted  two  or  three. 

44  We  ’ll  tell  the  master,  that  we  will.  Did  they  hurt 
you,  Nan  ? ” said  Amelia. 

44  Yes,”  sobbed  Nan. 

44  It  ’s  a shame,  it  is  and  an  angry  murmur  rose 
from  the  whole  set,  who  always  took  the  part  of  new- 
comers and  believed  them  to  be  injured  persons  like 


100 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER, 


themselves,  because  they  were  put  in  the  refractory 
ward,  never  waiting  to  question  whether  or  not  they 
deserved  punishment. 

“ What  was  you  put  in  for,  Nan  ? ” 

“ Because  I couldn’t  do  my  work,”  said  Nan. 

“ Nonsense,  Downing,  you  know  well  enough  it ’s 
not  that,”  said  Mrs  Thorn,  severely.  “ I ’ll  engage 
you  gave  some  of  your  sauce  to  the  taskmaster ; your 
tongue ’s  a good  deal  too  long.” 

“ I ’d  like  to  scratch  his  eyes,”  said  Amelia  ; and  they 
all  laughed  fiercely. 

Come,  Simson,  you  go  to  your  work  directly ; the 
master  will  be  round  very  soon  and  I ’ll  tell  him  of  you 
— now  see  if  I don’t.” 

“ Who  cares  h ” said  Amelia,  recklessly.  “ We  ’ll 
pay  Jones  out  some  day ; won’t  we,  girls,  when  he 
isn’t  thinking  ? ” 

“ You ’d  better  look  out,  or  you  ’ll  find  yourselves 
in  prison,  where  Kate  Wray  and  Biddy  Doolan  were 
sent  yesterday,”  rejoined  Mrs  Thorn. 

u I don’t  care  for  that,”  answered  Amelia,  with  a 
short,  sharp  laugh. 

She  had  long  ago  lost  all  self-respect,  and  was  con- 
tent to  be  the  ringleader  of  the  others  in  mischief. 
She  had  high  spirits,  and  a sort  of  rough  good-humour, 
that  made  her  popular ; and  the  rest  of  the  discontented 
were  only  too  ready  to  follow  her  lead. 

That  was  a noisier  day  than  usual  in  the  refractory 


MARY  HILTON,  THE  NEW  WARDER.  101 


ward.  When  the  taskmaster  entered  to  remove  the 
oakum,  the  girls,  at  a signal  from  Amelia,  all  at  once 
threw  armfuls  of  it  at  him.  A scene  of  confusion  fol- 
lowed. The  matron  and  master  were  sent  for,  and  order 
was  restored  with  difficulty. 

The  master  had  a conversation  with  Mrs  Thorn,  and 
the  upshot  of  it  was,  as  Amelia’s  quick  wits  gathered, 
that  there  was  to  be  a change  of  warders — that  Mrs 
Thorn  gave  up  her  post,  and  that  another  wTas  to 
be  appointed.  “ She  was  worn  out,”  she  said,  “ with 
their  bad  ways  ; they  made  her  life  a burden  to 
her,  and  she  wouldn’t  have  anything  more  to  say  to 
them.” 

In  the  evening,  when  the  work  was  finished,  the  girls 
amused  themselves  in  a wild,  half  savage  way,  by  danc- 
ing round  the  pile  of  oakum.  They  shook  down  all 
their  hair  for  fun  ; and  they  took  each  other’s  hands, 
and  sung  songs  as  they  danced.  It  was  not  because 
they  were  happy  that  they  danced  and  sang ; it  was 
rather  to  help  them  to  forget  all  the  miserable  thoughts 
that  were  in  their  minds.  But  it  was  a strange  scene, 
in  the  dim  evening  light,  as  the  door  opened,  and  the 
new  warder  stood  amongst  them. 

She  was  a tall  woman,  with  a grave,  sweet  face.  She 
had  not  been  long  in  the  workhouse,  but  some  of  the 
girls  had  seen  her  in  the  “ able-bodied  ward,”  and  knew 
her  by  the  name  of  Mary  Hilton.  She  stood  now  in 
the  gathering  gloom  about  the  door — in  her  check  dress, 


102 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


her  little  shawl,  and  the  white  workhouse  cap  tied  under 
her  chin — and  she  looked  for  a moment  at  the  scene 
before  her  without  speaking  ; but  if  any  one  had  been 
near  enough  to  her,  they  would  have  seen  the  tears 
start  to  her  eyes — they  would  have  heard  her  whisper, 
“ Poor  children  ! ” 

“Here’s  the  new  ’un,”  said  Amelia.  “Come  on, 
girls ; ” and  she  led  the  wild  song  louder  than  ever,  as 
if  in  reckless  defiance. 

Mary  Hilton  advanced  a step  or  two  nearer  to  them, 
and  then  her  voice  rang  out  cheerfully  above  the  song  : 
“ Have  you  finished  your  work,  dears  h ” 

If  a gun  had  gone  off  amongst  them  they  could  not 
have  been  more  astonished ; and  they  stood  still  and 
silent  before  her.  They  were  not  used  to  be  spoken  to 
in  that  pleasant  tone,  and  it  was  many  a long  day  since 
they  had  been  called  “dears.”  They  were  treated  as 
if  there  was  nothing  dear  about  them,  and  they  were 
accustomed  to  think  that  it  was  impossible  there  should 
be.  But  this  woman — whom  they  were  trying  to  pro- 
voke, whom  they  already  looked  upon  as  their  natural 
enemy — had  spoken  her  first  words  to  them  kindly. 

“Yes,  ma’am,  we  ’ve  quite  done,”  said  one  of  them, 
who  w^as  quieter  and  more  gentle  than  the  rest,  and  was 
in  the  refractory  ward  for  the  first  time. 

“ And  now  you  ’re  dancing  to  warm  yourselves  'l  ” 
went  on  Mary  Hilton. 

But  they  danced  no  more ; they  stood  before  her 


MARY  HILTON,  THE  NEW  WARDER.  103 


silent  and  ashamed.  It  was  no  good  going  on  dancing 
like  fools,  if  it  did  not  surprise  or  annoy  her. 

“I’ve  come  to  be  the  new  warder,”  she  said,  still  in 
that  friendly  cheery  tone. 

“ Is  Mrs  Thorn  gone  for  good  ? ” asked  Amelia. 

“ Yes.” 

“ She  told  the  master  wTe  made  her  ill,  didn’t  she  \ * 

“Yes,  I’m  afraid  so,”  said  Mary  Hilton,  gravely. 

“I’m  glad  we  did ; we  hated  her,”  said  Amelia. 

“ Hush,  dear ; don’t  say  that  about  anybody,”  replied 
the  new  warder,  in  that  same  gentle  voice.  “ I told 
the  master  I hoped  I ’d  soon  be  able  to  say  you  were 
all  good  girls,  and  ready  to  go  out  of  this ; will  you 
help  me  to  keep  my  word  ? ” 

Hone  of  them  spoke,  but  one  or  two  began  furtively 
to  twist  up  their  hair. 

“ That ’s  right ; I like  to  see  girls  with  tidy  hair,” 
said  Mary,  watching  them.  “ Won’t  you  put  up  yours, 
dear?”  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  Amelia’s  long  wavy 
locks,  adding  softly,  “ What  nice  long  hair  you’ve  got ; 
I daresay  your  mother  was  once  very  proud  of  it.” 

There  was  no  answer.  Amelia  turned  her  head  away 
with  a jerk,  and  began  wisping  her  hair  up  into  an  old 
chenille  net,  which  she  had  pulled  off  when  she  led  the 
dance ; but  a sound  very  like  a sob  was  heard  in  the 
twilight. 

As  for  Han,  the  tones  of  this  gentle  womanly  voice 
brought  back  the  same  feeling  which  had  come  to  her 


104 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


as  she  leaned  against  the  railings,  and  listened  to  the 
sweet  music  in  the  church,  on  that  miserable  Sunday 
night,  which  now  seemed  so  long  ago.  She  crept  away 
into  a far  corner  of  the  darkening  room,  and  sat  down 
on  a bench,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  She 
had  a longing  to  go  to  this  woman,  who  spoke  as  if 
she  cared  about  them  all,  and  tell  her  about  Joey,  and 
about  all  her  trouble  and  all  her  sin,  and  to  cry  to  her 
— “Help  me,  I’m  so  wretched;  help  me  to  be  differ- 
ent.” But  stronger  even  than  this  longing  was  the 
feeling  of  shame,  and  the  wish  to  shrink  away  from 
one  who  was  good  and  kind — to  hide  herself,  and  her 
misery  and  her  sin,  from  the  light  of  those  gentle, 
tender  eyes.  And  so  she  kept  aloof,  cowering  in  the 
dark,  while  Mrs  Hilton  sat  amongst  the  girls,  talking 
to  them  in  her  quiet  motherly  way, — asking  them  their 
names  and  their  ages,  and  drawing  out  as  much  of  their 
stories  as  they  cared  to  tell.  But  Nan  was  not  to  be 
overlooked.  Those  kind  eyes,  scanning  all  the  shadowy 
corners  of  the  ward,  saw  the  dark  figure  on  the  bench ; 
and  a moment  or  two  afterwards  that  same  voice,  which 
seemed  to  thrill  to  Nan’s  heart,  was  asking — 

“ What  is  your  name,  my  child  ? ” 

“ Nan  Downing,”  she  answered ; but  she  did  not 
raise  her  head  from  her  hands,  or  look  into  the  face 
which  was  bent  over  her. 

“ And  how  old  are  you  1 ” 

“ Sixteen  nearly.” 


MARY  HILTON,  THE  NEW  WARDER.  105 


“ Why,  you  are  the  youngest  in  the  room  ! Do  you 
mind  telling  me  where  you  come  from  h ” 

Nan  did  not  speak.  She  could  not  find  it  in  her 
heart  to  tell  an  untruth  to  this  woman,  and  yet  she  was 
afraid  to  tell  the  real  state  of  the  case. 

“Well,  never  mind;  we  shall  be  better  friends  by 
and  by.”  And  then  Mary  Hilton  touched  the  bent 
head  gently  with  her  hand — smoothing  Nan’s  shaggy 
hair — as  no  one  had  ever  touched  it  since  her  mother 
had  died,  long  ago. 

There  was  no  more  noise  or  confusion  that  night. 
And  when  Nan  went  to  bed,  the  last  thing  she  thought 
of  was  the  voice  that  had  called  her  “my  child/’  and 
the  hand  that  had  been  passed  over  her  hair,  just  as  if 
some  one  cared  for  her  in  this  great  world,  which  she 
had  found  so  hard  and  rough  and  cruel. 

So  Mary  Hilton  began  her  new  work.  Silver  and 
gold  she  had  none,  but  she  had  that  which  God  has 
given  to  nearly  every  woman  on  this  earth — a voice 
which  could  speak  kindly  words,  a heart  that  could  be 
sorry  for  sin  and  trouble,  and  a hand  that  could  be 
stretched  out  to  help  another  in  need ; and  for  His  sake 
she  used  them. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Cljx  isforg  of  f fjo  Wixtck. 

“ Whene’er  a noble  deed  is  wrought, 
Whene’er  is  spoken  a noble  thought, 
Our  hearts,  in  glad  surprise, 

To  higher  levels  rise. 


‘ Honour  to  those  whose  words  or  deeds 
Thus  help  us  in  our  daily  needs, 

And  by  their  overflow, 

Raise  us  from  what  is  low  ! ” 


-Longfdlou. 


“ I am  afraid 

Of  you,  but  not  so  much  if  you  have  sinned, 

As  for  the  doubt  if  sin  shall  be  forgiven.” 

—Jean  Ingelow. 

^IINGS  went  better  the  next  day.  No 
serious  outbreak  occurred,  for  once  or 
WX  twice  when  some  of  the  girls  were  in- 
^ dined  to  be  quarrelsome,  Mary  Hilton,  in 
her  firm,  kind  way,  interfered,  and  put  matters 
straight.  When  the  master  came  his  rounds,  she 
made  complaints  of  no  one,  but  merely  said,  that 
she  hoped  soon  to  be  able  to  say  they  were  all 
good  girls,  and  that  there  was  no  more  work  for 
her.  “ Ah  ! the  new  broom  sweeps  clean,”  said 
the  master  to  himself  ; “ she  ’ll  soon  get  tired  of 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  WRECK. 


107 


that  line,  when  she  finds  the  lot  she ’s  got  to  deal  with.” 
And  Mary  almost  feared  this  herself,  when  the  girls 
began  to  get  lazy,  and  threw  the  oakum  about,  instead 
of  working  diligently  to  get  it  all  picked  in  task-time. 

tc  Now,  look  here,  my  dears,”  she  said,  gravely  and 
firmly,  “ your  work  has  got  to  be  done,  you  know  it 
has  as  well  as  I.  There  are  words  in  the  Bible  which 
say,  ‘ If  any  man  will  not  work,  neither  shall  he  eat.5 
So  just  put  your  hearts  into  it,  and  see  how  soon  it  will 
be  finished ; and  then,  wThen  the  twilight  comes,  and 
you  can’t  see  any  longer,  you  shall  come  and  sit  round 
me,  and  I ’ll  tell  you  a story.” 

There  was  something  pleasant  and  comfortable  in 
the  sound  of  sitting  round  and  hearing  a story,  and 
every  one  set  to  work  again  : even  Amelia,  who  was 
generally  the  laziest  of  any,  worked  harder  than  usual ; 
and,  when  the  evening  came,  she  was  the  first  to  claim 
the  promise.  The  girls  all  gathered  about  Mary,  and 
were  as  quiet  as  possible  when  she  spoke  to  them. 

“ Shall  I tell  you  about  my  old  home  ? ” she  asked ; 
and  her  voice  trembled  a little  as  she  spoke. 

“ Yes  ! yes  ! ” they  cried,  and  came  closer  to  her, — 
some  sitting  on  the  bench,  some  on  the  brick-floor  at 
her  feet.  But  just  as  they  were  all  seated,  there  came 
a cry  from  Jane  Smith,  a tall,  pale-faced  girl,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  rather  idiotic,  yet  still  had  sense  enough 
to  know  right  from  wrong. 

“What’s  the  matter  with  you,  Jane?’’  asked  Mrs  Hilton. 


108 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“ ’Melia  pinclied  me,”  she  answered,  whining. 

“She  pulled  my  hair  quite  sharp,”  said  Amelia, 
loudly  and  angrily. 

“ Hush,  girls,  no  more  of  that,  I can’t  tell  my  story 
to  a set  of  babies ; and  if  you  behave  like  babies,  you 
must  go  and  sit  by  yourselves.”  The  words  were  said 
good-humouredly,  and  there  was  no  more  quarrelling. 

She  began  to  tell  them  of  the  home  by  the  sea, 
where  she  had  lived  before  she  came  to  London.  Her 
story  was  of  a rocky  sea-beach,  of  great  waves  that 
broke  upon  it, — of  fishing-boats,  and  of  hardy  fishermen, 
and  it  sounded  strange,  and  fresh,  and  beautiful  in  the 
ears  of  those  city  girls,  who  sat  listening  to  it  in  the 
gloomiest  part  of  a city  workhouse. 

“ My  brother  was  drowned  at  sea,”  said  one  of  the  girls. 

“ Poor  lad,”  said  Mrs  Hilton,  with  a sigh.  “ Ah  ! 
many  and  many ’s  the  brave  heart  that  the  waves  have 
buried  away  out  of  our  sight.  Shall  I tell  you,  girls, 
of  a shipwreck  I saw  once  1 ” 

“ Yes  ! yes  ! ” they  cried. 

“ Well,  it  was  a dark,  wild  night  on  our  coast,  and 
father  came  in  all  wet.  He  was  living  near  my  home, 
and  he  was  a lifeboat  man ; that  is,  he  was  one  of 
those  who  used  to  go  in  the  lifeboat  to  help  poor 
creatures  who  were  wrecked,  and  try  to  bring  them  safe 
to  shore ; and  he  said  to  my  man,  ‘ Come,  Ned/  said 
he,  6 there ’s  a ship  firing  guns  of  distress,  we  must  get 
our  boat  out  at  once.’  My  husband  was  a sailor.  He 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  WRECK. 


109 


jumped  up  from  his  supper,  and  he  took  his  sou’wester, 
and  he  turned  round  to  me,  and  says  he,  ‘ Mary,  dear, 
do  you  hear,  and  I must  be  off ; you  keep  up  a cheery 
fire,  for  perhaps  some  of  the  poor  things  will  need  it, 
and  our  cottage  is  handiest  to  the  shore,’ — and  then  he 
stooped  down  and  kissed  the  two  little  ones,  who  were 
toddling  about  near  us ; and  he  said  to  me,  ‘ keep  a brave 
heart,  lass ; we  ’ll  be  all  right,’ — and  away  he  went. 
I piled  up  the  fire,  and  I hushed  the  children  to  sleep ; 
but  the  wind  got  louder  and  fiercer,  and  shook  and 
rattled  the  window ; and  the  waves  broke  with  a roar 
like  thunder, — and  I got  frightened, — I couldn’t  stop 
there  alone;  and  I caught  up  my  cloak,  and  got  my 
lantern,  and  went  to  mother’s  house,  which  was  a few 
doors  off ; and  I said,  6 1 ’m  frightened  for  our  men, 
mother,  and  I ’m  going  down  to  see  where  they  be,  if 
you  ’ll  go  in  and  mind  the  children,’  for  mother  was  an 
old  woman  then,  and  couldn’t  get  about  in  the  storm  as 
I could.  Well,  I went  down  then  to  the  beach,  where 
there  was  a little  crowd  of  us  sailors’  wives  gathered — 
and  I shall  never  forget,  that  sight.  The  rain  w~as  over, 
and  the  moon  had  come  out  from  amongst  the  dark 
clouds,  and  by  its  light  we  could  see  the  waves  coming 
in  like  great  walls  moving,  each  with  a crown  of  foam, 
that  drifted  off  in  a shower  of  spray,  and  wet  us  all 
through  and  through  as  it  broke  : and  there  was  the 
poor  ship  lying  out  a very  little  way  from  the  shore 
amongst  the  breakers — and  there  was  the  lifeboat,  with 


110 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER . 


all  the  brave  men  whom  we  loved  in  it,  struggling 
through  the  waves  to  get  up  alongside  the  ship. 

“ We  didn’t  hardly  speak,  we  women  : we  all  crept 
close  together,  and  strained  our  eyes  out,  watching. 
We  saw  them  reach  the  ship ; we  saw  all  the  poor 
creatures  getting  down  the  side  as  fast  as  they  could ; 
we  guessed  that  the  ship  had  struck  on  a rock,  and  was 
filling  with  water,  so  that  if  they  didn’t  get  off  quick, 
there  was  no  chance  for  them  : and  the  great  waves 
seemed  as  if  they ’d  swamp  the  lifeboat  altogether. 

“ At  last  we  saw  it  beginning  to  come  back.  Every 
now  and  then  a wave  would  lift  it  up,  and  then  it 
would  go  down,  down,  out  of  our  sight,  and  our  hearts 
sank  down  also  ; but  the  men  hadn’t  pulled  only  a few 
strokes  away  from  the  sinking  ship,  when  a cry  rang 
out  above  the  wind  and  the  waves— a sharp,  bitter 
woman’s  cry — sometimes  I think  I can  hear  it  still,  for 
I never  heard  the  like  of  it.  There,  standing  on  the 
edge  of  the  vessel  they  had  left,  was  a woman,  her 
dress  blowing  about  in  the  storm,  and  something  dark 
huddled  up  in  her  arms. 

“ We  heard  the  answering  cry  from  the  boat;  and 
then,  between  the  roar  of  the  waves,  we  heard  the 
shout  of  angry  voices  rising  high. 

“In  another  instant  a man  had  sprung  from  amongst 
the  rowers,  and  plunged  into  the  sea ; he  was  a strong 
swimmer,  and  he  reached  the  ship,  then  there  seemed 
to  be  a struggle  between  him  and  the  woman,  he  could 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  WRECK. 


Ill 


not  save  both  at  once,  she  was  holding  out  the  bundle 
to  him,  and  insisting  that  he  should  save  the  baby 
whom  she  loved  better  than  herself,  and  he  did  it ; 
he  took  the  child,  and  battled  through  the  breakers 
back  to  the  boat,  threw  the  baby  into  the  arms  out- 
stretched for  it,  and  turned  back  again  to  the  ship. 
The  crew,  as  if  ashamed,  turned  the  boat  back  also. 
We  hid  our  eyes  then,  at  least  some  of  us  did,  and  we 
cried  to  God  to  save  him,  for  we  thought  he  could 
never  get  to  the  vessel  again.” 

Mrs  Hilton  paused,  pressing  her  hands  over  her  eyes, 
as  if  she  saw  the  scene  all  over  again.  The  girls,  eager, 
yet  quieted,  whispered,  “ Did  he  save  her, — did  he  get 
to  the  woman  'l  ” “ Yes  ! yes,”  she  answered,  “ I don’t 

know  how  he  did  it,  but  he  dragged  her  to  the  boat, 
she  was  pulled  in,  he  was  hauled  in  after  her,  and  fell 
down  exhausted  amongst  them.  The  boat  got  safely 
to  the  shore,  and  twelve  lives  had  been  saved  that 
night.  My  fire  was  useful  then,  for  the  poor  creatures 
were  wet  through,  but  that  woman,  oh ! I shall  never 
forget  her,  as  she  sat  by  the  fire,  rubbing  the  cold  limbs 
of  her  little  baby,  it  looked  so  fair,  and  so  quiet,  as  it 
lay  there  all  unconscious  of  what  had  happened,  and 
the  mother  bending  over  it  as  if  she  would  give  her  own 
life  for  it  gladly.” 

“ Oh ! it  didn’t  die  !— please,  say  the  baby  didn’t 
die,”  gasped  Nan,  who  had  come  closer  and  closer  to 
Mary  Hilton  and  now  laid  a cold  hand  on  hers.  The 


112 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


tears  were  streaming  down  her  cheeks;  and  her  face  was 
full  of  excitement  and  interest. 

“ No,  my  dear,  it  didn’t  die,  it  soon  recovered,  and  you 
should  have  seen  the  poor  mother’s  smile  as  she  looked 
up  at  the  man  who  had  saved  them  both,  and  thanked 
him.  He  only  patted  the  baby’s  cheek  and  said,  ‘ 1 ’d 
have  wanted  somebody  to  bear  a hand  and  save  them 
if  it  had  been  my  good  woman  or  my  little  Ted  that 
was  there.  How  did  you  get  overlooked  V CI  don’t 
know,’  she  answered ; ‘ baby  was  asleep  in  the  cabin, 
and  I ’d  gone  to  fetch  him.’  ” 

“ What  a good  man  that  was,”  said  one  of  the  girls, 
eagerly.  “ Was  he  your  father,  missus  ? ” 

“No,  he  was  my  husband,”  she  answered  sadly. 
There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  which 
kept  them  all  from  asking  any  more  questions,  but  she 
added  presently,  “We  came  to  London  soon  after  that, 
when  my  parents  died,  and  he  went  many  more  voyages, 
but  last  year  he  went  away  with  my  boy,  and  the  ship 
has  never  been  heard  of  since : that ’s  how  I come  to  be 
here.”  She  bowed  her  head  in  her  hands,  and  the  girls 
could  hear  the  quick,  short  sobs  she  was  trying  to  keep 
back  ; they  crowded  round  her  with  kindly  words,  the 
fiercest,  the  roughest  of  them  had  sympathy  for  her ; 
they  touched  her  hands  gently,  they  laid  theirs  upon 
her  knee,  they  said,  “ Don’t  cry,  missus,  don’t  cry,  may- 
hap he  isn’t  drowned, — mayhap  he  ’ll  come  back  yet, 
but  don’t  ’ee  fret, — there ’s  a dear  soul.”  She  was  none 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  WRECK. 


113 


the  worse  for  that  sympathy,  even  though  it  was  the 
worst  of  the  workhouse  girls  who  gave  it  to  her ; 
it  was  the  best  they  had  to  give,  and  she  felt  very 
grateful  for  it. 

“ Let ’s  sing  a song  and  cheer  her  up,”  said  Amelia, 
who  felt  the  sadness  of  the  scene  irksome,  and  she  be- 
gan one  of  the  street  ditties  which  she  knew  best. 

It  was  kindly  meant,  and  the  warder  took  it  in  good 
part,  but  when  the  song — which  was  not  a very  pleasing 
one — was  finished,  she  said,  “ You  have  a very  nice  voice 
when  you  don’t  sing  too  loud,  Amelia.  I ’m  very  fond 
of  singing  too,  let’s  sing  ‘Home,  sweet  Home’  together. 
Do  you  know  it  ? ” 

“I  should  think  I did,”  said  Amelia,  with  a short 
laugh,  “but  it’s  not  a very  new  song.” 

“ I like  the  old  ones  best,”  replied  Mary  Hilton,  and 
she  began  to  sing  in  a sweet,  though  rather  trembling 
voice.  The  old  familiar  song  sounded  as  strange  as  the 
story  of  the  sea,  in  this  room  where  the  homeless  ones  of 
the  earth  were  gathered,  and  Amelia’s  voice,  though  it  be- 
gan loudly  enough,  died  away  altogether  before  the  end. 

“ Why,  girls,”  whispered  Jane  Smith,  chuckling,  “ I 
do  believe  there’s  ’Melia  crying.”  “Then  it’s  the  first 
time  she ’s  ever  done  it,  that  I ’ve  knowed  of,”  was  the 
answer ; and  then  Amelia  spoke  angrily  amidst  the  sobs 
which  she  could  not  control,  “ I don’t  care,  I can’t  help 
it,  I never, — never  sung  that  song  since  I sung  it  with 
mother  over  our  work,  and  I don’t  see  what  we  should 

H 


114 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


sing  about  sweet  home  for,  when  we  haven’t  one  of  us 
got  a home  to  go  to.” 

“ There ’s  our  Father’s  Home  for  every  one  of  us,” 
said  Mary  Hilton,  gently  and  gravely. 

“ That ’s  not  for  our  sort,”  said  one  girl  with  a startled 
remembrance  of  words  which  she  had  learnt  as  a little 
child  about  “ our  Father,  which  art  in  Heaven,”  and 
had  never  thought  of  since. 

“ Our  Saviour  came  to  tell  us  it  was  for  every  one 
who  wanted  it.” 

“ Don’t  you  preach  about  Him,”  said  Amelia,  roughly; 
“ that ’s  all  well  enough  for  good  people,  but  we  don’t 
care  nothing  about  these  things.  Every  one  says  we  ’re 
lost — don’t  they,  girls'? — and  it  don’t  matter  what  we 
do and  she  laughed  a bitter,  reckless  laugh. 

Mary  bent  forward,  her  eyes  shining  with  that  ten- 
der, womanly  yearning  that  seemed  to  draw  all  these 
poor  hearts  so  close  to  her,  and  she  said,  in  a voice 
faltering  with  earnestness,  “ The  Son  of  Man  is  come  to 
seek  and  to  save  that  which  is  lost.” 

There  was  a grave  silence  through  the  room,  which 
was  broken  at  last  by  Han’s  voice  speaking  low  and 
fast,  “ Do  He  care  about  us  ? — us  that  hasn’t  got  no- 
body to  love  us  h ” 

“ Yes,  even  us,”  answered  Mary,  slowly,  and  she  laid 
her  hand  on  Nan’s  arm  as  she  spoke,  with  a pitying, 
loving  look;  but  Nan  shrunk  away  again  from  the  kindly 
touch,  for  it  seemed  to  burn  into  her  heart,  and  to  fill  it 
with  shame. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Amelia’s  <®fcr. ' 

♦‘Good  is  stronger  than  evil. 

Life  stronger  than  death, 

Light  is  stronger  than  darkness, 

So  all  that  have  breath 

Praise  the  Lord.” 

— Thoughts  in  Verse  for  the  Hardworking 
and  Suffering. 

HE  next  week  the  refractory  ward  was 
empty.  Every  girl  who  had  been  in  it 
had  promised  good  behaviour,  and  most 
of  them  had  gone  back  to  work  in  the  young 
women’s  ward.  One  or  two  had  left  the  work- 
house  ; one  had  even  returned  to  a long-deserted 
home,  where  an  old,  broken-hearted  mother 
had  longed  and  watched  for  her  in  vain  for 
many  a year.  Mary  Hilton’s  work  had  had  its  first 
reward,  but  she  was  too  sensible  to  suppose 
that  a sudden  impression,  such  as  her  sympathy 
and  kind  words  had  made,  would  have  a 
lasting  effect.  She  knew  too  well  the  strength 
of  evil,  and  how  soon  a wild,  lawless  nature 
would  break  out  again ; yet  still  she  was  thank- 


116 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


fill  that  there  were  soft  places  in  these  girls’  hearts 
that  could  be  touched,  and  that  order  was  for  a time 
restored. 

When  Nan  went  back  to  her  work,  she  shrank  away 
from  her  former  companions.  After  Mary  Hilton’s 
gentle  voice  and  words,  there  was  something  in  the  bad 
language  which  she  heard  which  seemed  to  make  her 
ashamed,  and  she  kept  apart  as  much  as  she  could. 
Her  face  was  so  sad  and  so  ill-tempered ; her  voice 
was  so  sullen  ; her  manner  so  dull  and  listless,  that 
no  one  cared  to  speak  to  her,  and  she  never  seemed 
anxious  to  make  a friend.  She  had  nothing  to  love, 
nothing  to  hope  for,  now  that  Joey  was  lost  to  her; 
and  the  haunting  fear  that  Peter  was  dead  through 
her  fault,  and  that  her  former  mistress  would  find  out 
where  she  was,  seldom  left  her. 

Every  time  that  a new  inmate  was  admitted  her 
heart  filled  with  guilty  terror,  that  she  might  know 
something  of  her  past  history.  When  a visitor  or  the 
chaplain  entered  the  ward,  Nan  shrank  away  to  the 
farthest  corner,  only  dreading  lest  they  should  speak 
to  her.  She  did  her  allotted  amount  of  coarse  needle- 
work ; she  took  her  meals ; she  went  to  chapel ; she 
walked  about  in  the  yard,  but1  day  by  day  life  seemed 
to  grow  sadder  and  drearier,  and,  before  long,  she  began 
to  feel  a dull  oppression  over  her.  She  did  not  care  for 
her  food,  she  fell  asleep  with  her  head  on  her  arms  at 
Service,  and  her  limbs  shook  under  her  when  she  took 


AMELIA'S  OFFER. 


117 


exercise.  She  did  not  know  what  was  going  to  happen 
to  her,  and  wondered,  in  a dim  sort  of  way,  if  she  was 
going  to  die  as  her  mother  had  died.  She  sometimes 
saw  Mary  Hilton,  but  they  never  spoke  to  each  other. 
Mary  often  smiled  at  her,  but  Han  evidently  shrunk 
from  being  spoken  to,  and  Mary  wondered  sadly 
whether  any  one  could  ever  get  hold  of  the  heart  that 
beat  so  warmly  under  that  rough  hard  nature;  she 
was  quite  sure  that  it  was  a warm  heart  when  it  was 
touched,  for  she  had  not  forgotten  how  eagerly  Han 
had  spoken  about  the  baby  in  her  story  of  the  wreck ; 
and  the  girl’s  sad  words  often  rang  in  her  ears,  “us 
that  hasn’t  got  nobody  to  love  us.” 

One  day,  as  Mary  was  crossing  the  yard  at  the  hour 
for  exercise,  she  saw  a figure,  which  she  thought  she 
recognised,  seated  on  one  of  the  steps  where  the  sun 
shone  warm  and  brightly. 

There  was  something  in  the  forlorn  way  in  which 
the  girl  was  sitting  with  her  head  buried  in  her  arms 
that  went  to  Mary’s  kind  heart,  and  she  laid  her  hand 
on  Han’s  shoulder  saying,  “ Is  that  you,  Han,  my  dear  ? 
why  aren’t  you  walking  1 ain’t  you  well?” 

A shiver  seemed  to  run  through  Han’s  whole  frame 
at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  for  a moment  she  did 
not  look  up ; then  she  lifted  a face  almost  as  white  as 
the  cap  which  surrounded  it,  and  said,  “ I shake  so, 
I can’t  walk.” 

“Poor  dear,  I’m  afraid  you’re  ill,”  said  Mary, 


118 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


taking  her  hand.  “ Why,  it  ’s  burning  ! and  I daresay 
your  poor  head  is  aching.” 

a I don’t  know,  I think  it  is,”  said  Nan,  wearily. 
“ But  I ’m  not  ill,  I ’m  not  ill ; I ’m  going  out  of  the 
house  to-morrow.” 

“ Where  are  you  going,  my  dear  ? ” 

A faint  flush  came  over  Nan’s  pale  face.  “ I don’t 
know,”  she  said,  “ but  ’Melia  Simson  is  going,  and  she 
says  she  ’ll  take  me,  and  find  me  something  to  do.” 

Mrs  Hilton  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl’s  arm  then,  and 
spoke  as  a mother  might  have  spoken  to  her.  “ Don’t 
go  with  her,  my  child,  don’t  go  with  her.  Did  you  know 
anything  of  her  before  you  came  here  ? ” 

“ No  ; I met  her  one  day,  and  she  brought  me  here.” 
“ Have  you  no  home,  no  parents,  my  dear  ? ” 

“ No ; father  died  about  two  years  ago,  and  mother 
ever  so  long,  and  uncle ’s  took  Joey  away,  and  I ’ve 
nobody  now.” 

“ Who’s  Joey?”  asked  her  friend;  but  Nan  only 
answered  her  with  a sob. 

“ Well,  dear,  I didn’t  know  your  mother,  but  if  she 
loved  you  as  I loved  my  girl,  she ’d  rather  have  seen 
you  die  than  go  off  with  ’Melia  Simson.  Think  better 
of  it,  there ’s  a good  child,  and  don’t  go.” 

“ I ’ve  said  I will,”  said  Nan,  “ and  I think  I ’ll  die 
if  I stay  cooped  up  here  any  longer.” 

“ I think  you  ’re  ill  now,  and  I ’ll  speak  to  the 
matron,  and  get  you  something  to  do  you  good.” 


AMELIA'S  OFFER. 


119 


“No;  I don’t  want  nothing,”  said  Nan.  “I  want 
to  get  out  of  this,  that ’s  all ; and  ’Melia ’s  promised  to 
take  me.” 

“ My  child,  you  mustn’t  go — you  mustn’t  go  ! ” Mrs 
Hilton  answered  her,  folding  the  two  burning  feverish 
hands  in  hers,  and  speaking  from  her  heart,  which 
yearned  over  this  motherless,  lonely  girl.  “You  don’t 
know  what  you  ’ll  become  if  you  go  away  with  ’Melia, 
not  knowing  what  you’re  going  to  do.” 

“No  one  cares,”  sobbed  Nan.  “ Let  me  go.” 

“ Don’t  say  that,  Nan ; I care.”  She  sat  down  on 
the  step  beside  the  girl,  and  put  her  arm  round  her. 

“You  wouldn’t  care  if  you  knew,”  said  Nan,  making 
a last  effort  to  hide  herself  in  her  old  sullenness,  and  to 
escape  from  this  woman,  who  had  come  to  her  with 
light  and  help  and  comfort. 

“I  think  I should,”  said  Mary,  tenderly.  “And 
God  knows  it  all,  even  if  I don’t ; and  yet  I know  He 
cares  for  you.” 

Then  suddenly  Nan  laid  her  head  down  on  her  new  * 
friend’s  shoulder,  and  the  cry  of  her  weary,  lonely  life 
broke  out  in  the  words — “ If  only  I ’d  some  one  to  love 
me,  I’d  try  to  be  better,  I would.” 

Very  simply,  as  she  would  have  told  the  story  to  a 
child,  Mary  told  her  about  Christ — who  had  lived  on 
the  earth  amongst  us — who  knew  all  about  the  lives  oi 
the  men  and  women  round  Him — who  loved  even  the 
worst  of  them— who  helped  even  the  most  sinful  to  be 


120 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


better — who  died  for  their  sakes — who  loved  Nan  even 
then,  when  she  was  all  alone  in  the  world,  and  wanted 
her  to  love  Him,  and  to  live  a good  life  instead  of  a 
bad  one. 

“ He  was  a good  man.  I think  you  must  be  some- 
thing like  He  was,”  said  Nan,  who  had  kept  her  head 
on  Mary  Hilton’s  shoulder  while  she  listened.  There 
was  silence  for  a minute,  and  then  she  added,  “ I w^on’t 
go  writh  ’Melia ; I ’ll  bide  here,  and  do  my  work.” 

“ God  bless  you  ! my  dear,”  said  Mary,  kindly,  and 
she  stooped  down  and  kissed  Nan’s  cheek.  A hope 
seemed  to  come  into  the  girl’s  heart  with  that  kiss — a 
hope  of  a brighter  and  a better  life—  a hope  that  not 
even  the  thought  of  all  the  bitter  past,  with  its  sin  and 
its  sorrow  and  its  terror,  could  kill. 

She  struggled  to  her  feet,  and  dashed  away  her  tears. 
“I  must  go  to  wrork  now,”  she  said. 

“ You  ’re  not  fit  for  work,”  said  Mary,  as  she  watched 
her  tottering  across  the  yard.  “ I ’ll  go  and  look  for 
the  matron  at  once ; ” and  then  she  added  softly  to  her- 
self— “ Lizzie,  are  you  glad  ? I wonder  if  you  know. 
Is  there  joy  in  heaven — or  will  the  child  slip  back  to 
the  old  ways,  and  be  lost  again  ? She  shan’t  if  I can 
help  her,  at  any  rate.” 

The  matron,  an  energetic  and  kind-hearted  woman, 
looked  for  Nan  a short  time  afterwards,  and  ordered 
her  to  the  sick  ward  at  once.  And  Nan  was  not  sorry 
to  lay  her  aching  head  down  on  the  clean  little  bed. 


AMELIA'S  OFFER. 


121 


She  felt  too  ill  to  take  notice  of  all  those  who  were 
lying  in  the  beds  on  each  side  of  the  long  ward,  but 
she  drank  the  cup  of  tea,  which  one  of  the  nurses 
brought  her,  and  lay  with  her  eyes  closed,  and  in  a 
sort  of  stupor,  till  night;  then  she  became  more  ill; 
and,  when  the  morning  came,  it  was  no  question  of  her 
leaving  the  workhouse  with  Amelia,  for,  even  if  she  had 
not  given  up  the  intention  of  her  own  free  will,  she  was 
too  ill  to  move.  She  was  attacked  with  pleurisy  and 
fever.  The  time  that  came  after,  seemed  always  to 
be  a dream  to  her.  She  fancied  that  she  was  again  at 
Mrs  Jackson’s,  and  that  the  baby  was  in  her  arms — 
that  she  took  it  out  and  threw  it  into  the  river,  and 
that  she  jumped  in  then  herself,  and  snatched  it  out, 
hugging  and  kissing  it.  She  thought  Peter  was  teach- 
ing her  to  read,  and  that  suddenly  the  policeman  came, 
and  held  up  the  roses  she  had  bought  with  the  stolen 
money,  and  said  she  must  come  to  prison, — and  that 
Peter  said  he  would  go,  and  that  he  was  struck  on  the 
face,  and  knocked  down.  Then  she  thought  she  was 
amongst  the  gravestones  in  the  stonecutter's  yard,  and 
that  the  white  figure,  with  the  hidden  face,  suddenly 
lifted  its  head,  and  it  was  Mary  Hilton,  who  was  look- 
ing at  her.  Then  she  fancied  herself  watching  the 
wreck  which  Mrs  Hilton  had  described,  only  the  woman 
who  uttered  the  cry  was  changed  to  Peter,  and  he  held 
Mrs  Jackson’s  baby  in  his  arms. 

She  cried  out  then,  “ Save  him — save  him  ! don’t  let 


122 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


Peter  be  drowned  ! I took  it — I did,  indeed  ! ” And 
she  tossed  her  fevered  hands  out  wildly.  Her  hands 
were  taken  gently  and  put  under  the  bed-clothes,  and 
something  cold  and  wet  touched  her  forehead,  which 
she  fancied  was  spray  from  the  storm-driven  waves. 
“ I want  to  go  into  church,”  she  went  on  muttering. 
“ I want  to  go  like  a lady,  and  have  smart  flowers  in 
my  bonnet,  and  carry  a book;  and  Joey  will  like  me 
then.  Ring  at  the  bell, — ring  louder,  he  can’t  have 
gone ; he  wouldn’t  be  so  cruel,  when  I ’ve  walked  such 
a long  way,  and  have  got  my  smart  things  on.  I’m  so 
hungry,  ma’am — a little  bit  of  bread.  Hush  ! there ’s 
the  pretty  music  in  the  church  again  ; — they  ’re  singing 
( Home,  sweet  home.’  Yes,  yes,  sir  ; I ’ll  move  on.” 

To  us,  who  know  her  story,  it  is  not  hard  to  see  that 
her  mind  was  going  over  all  her  former  life,  and  pour- 
ing out  all  the  sad  history  which  had  been  shut  up  in 
it  so  long ; but,  to  those  around  her,  the  ravings  seemed 
wild  and  terrible.  Sometimes,  in  her  calmer  moments, 
she  had  a strange  feeling  of  a hand  touching  her,  and 
a voice  speaking  to  her,  that  she  began  to  fancy  were 
her  mother’s,  they  were  so  gentle  and  tender ; but  once 
she  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  up,  and  saw  Mary  Hil- 
ton bending  over  her,  and  then  she  knew  whose  hand 
it  was,  and  why  it  had  reminded  her  of  her  dead 
mother. 

“ Is  it  you  ? ” she  said,  in  a weak  whisper. 

“ Yes,  dear  ; now  lie  still,  there ’s  a good  girl.” 


AMELIA'S  OFFER. 


123 


“ Have  I been  bad  again  ? ” asked  Nan,  thinking  she 
was  in  the  refractory  ward,  which  she  connected  with 
her  friend. 

“No,  my  dear,  only  ill;  and  I’ve  come  to  nurse  you. 
There  was  no  work  for  me,  so  they  made  me  a nurse. 
Here,  have  a drink  ; ” and  she  lifted  the  weak  head 
gently,  and  put  a cup  of  barley-water  to  the  fevered 
lips.  Nan  drank  eagerly;  then,  fixing  her  large  eyes 
wistfully  on  Mary  Hilton,  she  said  again,  “ If  you  knew 
about  it  all,  you  wouldn’t  nurse  me.” 

“ Yes  I would,”  answered  Mary,  cheerfully.  “Now 
you  lie  back,  and  get  a nice  sleep,  there’s  a dear.” 

Nan  did  as  she  was  told,  like  a tired  child. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


fog  for  $|targ  pilfotr. 


11  Up,  up  ! the  day  is  breaking, 

Say  to  thy  cares  good-night, 

Thy  troubles  from  thee  shaking, 

Like  dreams  in  day’s  fresh  light. 

Thou  wearest  not  the  crown, 

Nor  the  best  course  canst  tell, 

God  sitteth  on  the  throne. 

And  guideth  all  things  well.” 

—Paul  Gerhardt. 

HE  next  thing  that  Nan  remembered  was 
opening  her  eyes  from  what  had  seemed 
a very  long  sleep,  and  feeling  that  all  pain 
was  gone  from  her  head  and  side.  She  hardly 
knew  where  she  was  at  first ; but  when  she  looked 
wearily  round,  she  saw  the  same  kind  face  which 
had  come  to  her,  as  she  thought,  in  her  dreams,  by 
her  side,  and  heard  the  same  kind  voice  saying  to 
her,  “ You’re  better  now,  dear?” 

“ Yes,”  she  whispered,  and  tried  to  stretch  out 
her  hand  to  Mary  Hilton ; but  from  weakness, 
the  hand  fell  powerless  upon  the  bed. 

Mary  brought  her  a drink  of  broth,  and  smoothed 
her  pillow,  and  then  begged  her  to  lie  quite  still, 


JOY  FOR  MARY  HILTON. 


125 


as  her  poor  head  would  ache  again  if  she  talked  any 
more. 

“ But  I ’m  tired,”  said  Nan  ; “ I want  to  sit  up  a bit ; 
I’ve  been  lying  down  a long  time.” 

“You  can’t  get  up  yet,  my  dear.  Now,  you  lie 
still,  and  I ’ll  bring  you  something  to  look  at.” 

She  went  over  to  the  window,  and  came  back  with 
some  roses  and  pinks  in  her  hand,  which  she  laid  on 
the  bed. 

“ There  was  a good  lady  here  yesterday,  who  brought 
some  flowers  with  her,  and  she  gave  me  a few  for  you, 
in  case  you  were  a little  better,  and  cared  for  them.” 
Nan  smiled  as  she  touched  the  bright  roses. 
“They’re  sweet,”  she  said,  “ and  they ’re  pretty  ; did 
she  really  mean  them  for  me  ? ” 

“ Yes,  she  did,  and  I kept  them  in  water  for  you.” 
The  girl’s  eyes  brightened,  and  her  fingers  strayed 
amongst  the  flowers,  lifting  first  one  and  then  another, 
and  letting  them  drop  again ; no  one  had  ever  given 
her  a flower  before. 

“ Do  you  like  them  h ” asked  Mary. 

“ Yes  ! I used  to  watch  for  the  flower-carts  going  up 
and  down  the  streets,  they  look  so  pretty  and  so  gay ; 
and  we  used  to  have  flowrers  in  our  shop  sometimes  ” — 
but  here  Nan  stopped — as  a terrible  rush  of  remem- 
brance came  over  her — and  the  old  fear  of  being  found 
out  returned  to  her.  She  was  too  weak,  however,  to 
feel  anything  very  strongly  ; . and  there  was  something 


126 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


in  Mary  Hilton’s  presence,  which  seemed  to  save  her 
from  herself,  and  from  the  sad  wicked  past.  Mary  saw 
the  change  pass  over  her  face,  and  fearing  that  some 
sad  memory  had  come  to  her,  which  it  would  make  her 
ill  to  brood  over,  she  said — 

“ These  look  as  if  they  had  come  straight  from  the 
country.” 

Nan  looked  round  at  her,  wistfully.  “ The  country 
is  where  Joey ’s  gone,”  she  whispered. 

“ Is  Joey  your  brother  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Perhaps,  some  day,  we  11  find  him,  and  get  him  to 
see  you.” 

“ I don't  know  where  he  is,”  said  Nan,  sorrowfully. 
“ Is  the  country  a very  big  place  ? ” 

Mary  smiled.  “ Yes,  my  dear,  but  still  well  ‘hope 
on,  hope  ever,' — we  may  perhaps  find  him,  though  it 
is.  We  used  to  have  roses  like  these  in  our  garden.  I 
mind  how  they  grew,  and  people  said  they  were  so  fine 
to  be  so  near  the  sea.  My  poor  man,  he  was  very  proud 
of  them.  And  these  white  pinks  ! why,  my  Lizzie,  she 
used  to  pick  him  a pink  on  a Sunday  morning,  and  a 
bit  of  old  man,  and  bring  them  to  put  in  his  button-hole 
going  to  church.  I never  smell  them  now  that  I don't 
think  of  it.  Oh  ! and  the  smell  used  to  be  so  sweet  as 
I ’d  sit  at  my  work  by  the  cottage-door,  when  there  had 
been  a shower.” 

She  talked  on  soothingly  and  pleasantly,  and  when 


JOY  FOR  MARY  HILTON, 


127 


Nan  fell  asleep  again,  she  had  no  more  fearful  dreams, 
but  thought  she  was  in  a cottage,  where  there  were 
roses  growing  at  the  door,  and  that  Joey  picked  them 
and  brought  them  to  her. 

She  began  to  recover  steadily  from  this  day,  though 
she  did  so  very  slowly.  Mary  spared  all  the  time  she 
could  from  those  who  were  more  ill,  and  needed  her 
nursing  more  urgently,  to  look  after  Nan ; but  she  was 
rather  disappointed  that,  as  the  girl  grew  stronger,  she 
grew  also  more  silent,  and  less  friendly  with  her.  She 
never  said  anything  about  her  past  story  ; and  there 
came  a look  of  sadness  and  shame  into  her  face,  which 
made  her  new  friend  very  sorry,  for  she  felt  that  there 
was  something  hidden,  which  was  hanging  like  a dead 
weight  about  the  poor  girl’s  heart ; and  what  she  most 
feared  for  her  was,  that  she  should  become  hopeless 
and  reckless  about  herself. 

One  evening,  when  Nan  was  nearly  well  again,  and 
was  sitting  in  the  room  where  the  convalescent  patients 
from  the  sick  ward  were  allowed  to  take  their  meals, 
Mary  Hilton  brought  her  some  tea,  and  seeing  that  the 
room  was  empty,  she  sat  down  by  the  girl,  while  she  took 
it.  She  often  hoped  that  Nan  would  tell  her  her 
story;  but  whenever  she  alluded  to  it  at  all,  Nan  was 
quite  silent,  and  shrunk  away  from  the  subject,  for  she 
had  not  faith  enough  in  her  friend  to  think  that  her 
love  could  last,  if  she  knew  of  the  stolen  money  and 
the  brooch — and  about  poor  Peter,  who  had  been  so 


128 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


kind  to  her ; the  thought  of  that  kindness  of  his  was 
sadder  to  her  than  anything  else  now. 

“ Is  your  tea  sweet  enough  J”  asked  Mary,  kindly. 

“ Yes,  thank  you,”  said  Nan ; and  then  after  a mo- 
ment’s silence,  she  said  abruptly,  “ Where’s  ’Melia  ?” 

a She ’s  been  gone  away  a long  time  now,”  said 
Mary,  sadly ; “ I begged  her  not  to  go,  but  she  would ; 
and  she  said,  she ’d  come  back  sometime — I ’m  afraid 
she  will.” 

Nan  stirred  her  tea,  and  said  nothing. 

“ Nan,  my  dear,”  Mary  went  on,  anxiously,  “ if  ever 
’Melia  comes  back,  and  wants  you  to  go  with  her,  don’t 
you  go.  I want  to  be  your  friend,  and  I say  to  you, 
you  ’ll  come  to  no  good  with  her.” 

“ She  promised  she ’d  help  me  to  get  some  money, 
and  some  good  clothes,”  said  Nan,  wistfully. 

“ Child,  she  can’t  help  you ; she  can’t  even  get 
clothes  herself,  let  alone  getting  them  for  you.  It’s 
quite  natural  and  right  that  a girl  should  want  good 
clothes, — clean  and  tidy  ones,  I mean,  for  I don’t  hold 
with  finery, — but  let  her  earn  them  rightly,  by  work- 
ing respectably  for  herself  ; and  going  into  such  bad 
company  to  look  for  them,  isn’t  getting  them  rightly, 
my  dear.” 

Nan  hung  her  head.  She  knew  that  her  friend’s 
words  were  true. 

“ I know  what  girls  are,  Nan.  I was  a girl  myself, 
and  I had  a daughter  once.”  Her  voice  faltered  here, 


Joy  for  Mary  Hilton.” — Page  128. 


UbKARV 
OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


JOY  FOR  MARY  HILTON. 


129 


but  with  a strong  effort  she  recovered  herself  and  went 
on.  “ Nan,  if  I didn’t  care  about  you,  I couldn’t  talk 
to  you  of  my  Lizzie.  She  was  my  only  daughter,  and 
I was  so  proud  of  her.  She  was  so  pretty,  and  not 
only  in  her  face,  but  she  had  a pretty  word  for  every 
one.  Well,  she  began  to  find  out  how  smart  things 
set  her  off,  and  to  long  for  them,  and  she  couldn’t  keep 
contented  in  her  home,  but  must  go  off  to  earn  money 
that  she  might  dress  well,  she  said.  Her  father  and 
me  wouldn’t  have  minded  her  being  a respectable  maid- 
servant in  a nice  family, — there ’s  nothing  more  to  be 
admired,  say  I,  than  a faithful,  steady  servant, — but  my 
Lizzie,  she  wanted  to  take  a place  in  a house  we  didn’t 
like,  and  father  said  she  shouldn’t ; and  Lizzie,  she ’d  a 
high  spirit,  and  she  ran  away  from  us.” 

Mary  was  silent  for  a moment,  and  Nan  said,  eagerly, 
“ Did  she  never  come  back  % didn’t  you  never  see  her 
any  more  % 

“ Yes,”  Mary  went  on  sadly  ; “ she  came  back  to  me 
to  die.  She ’d  got  into  service,  and  she ’d  bought  her 
fine  clothes,  and  she  had  thought  she  was  very  happy. 
Then  she  got  engaged  to  be  married,  and  her  banns 
had  been  called  in  church  once,  when  she  found  out 
that  the  man  had  been  married  before,  and  had  got  a 
wife  living,  and  after  that  she  fell  into  bad  health. 
She ’d  never  been  very  strong,  and  she  had  to  go  to  the 
hospital.  She  was  too  proud  even  then  to  let  me  know 
she  was  ill,  but  they  dismissed  her  as  incurable,  and 

i 


130 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


then,  when  she  was  almost  starving,  she  came  back  to 
me.  I was  so  glad  to  see  her  again,  that  I did  not 
make  out  rightly  at  first  how  ill  she  was,  but  she  soon 
told  me  she ’d  only  come  home  to  die.  My  poor  girl, 
I think  I see  her  now,  as  she  lay  in  bed  with  her  great, 
dark  eyes  fixed  on  me,  so  loving  and  so  gentle-like ; 
and  said  she,  ‘ Oh ! what  do  the  poor  girls  do  that 
hasn’t  got  a mother  to  come  to  ? ’ And  then  another 
time,  when  she  was  near  her  end,  she  started  up  one 
day,  and  she  caught  me  by  the  arm,  and,  says  she, 
‘ Mother,  if  ever  you  get  the  chance  to  help  a poor  girl 
that ’s  lonely  and  in  trouble,  do  it  for  my  sake.  Tell 
them  it  ain’t  finery,  nor  gay  company,  nor  pleasure- 
loving  that  ’ll  make  them  the  happiest ; it ’s  to  think 
of  God,  and  keep  respectable.  They  mayn’t  believe 
it  at  first,  but  the  day  will  come  when  every  one  of 
them  will.’  Ah  ! she  was  so  good  and  so  patient  all 
that  long  time  until  she  died,  and  she  seemed  as  if  she 
couldn’t  love  me  enough,  but  just  before  she  left  me 
she  said  again,  1 Mother,  there ’s  hundreds  of  girls  far 
more  wretched  and  worse  off  than  I ’ve  ever  been.  If 
ever  you  see  any  of  them,  tell  them  there ’s  One  who  can 
save  them  ; tell  them  there ’s  One  who  cares  for  them.’ 
So  you  see,  my  dear,  it  seems  like  Lizzie’s  voice  telling 
me  to  speak  to  you,  and  I can’t  help  it.” 

Nan  looked  very  thoughtful  for  a few  minutes, 
and  then  said,  “ Was  you  living  in  London  then  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; I kept  a little  shop  when  my  husband  was 


JOY  FOR  MARY  HILTON. 


131 


away  at  sea,  but  it  failed  a while  ago,  and  then  I ’d 
nothing  left,  for  I ’d  been  trying  to  keep  my  man’s 
parents,  who  were  very  old  people  and  lived  near  us.  I 
couldn’t  bear  to  see  them  in  such  want  and  I not  able 
to  get  anything  for  them,  so  I proposed  we ’d  all  come 
here,  and  I ’ve  got  friends  looking  out  for  a situation 
for  me.” 

“ I wish  some  one  would  find  me  one  when  I ’m 
well,”  Nan  said,  sorrowfully. 

“ Were  you  in  service  before  you  got  here?  ” 

“ Yes.”  Nan’s  eyes  fell  as  she  answered. 

“ Did  you  leave  of  yourself,  or  did  your  missus  give 
you  notice?” 

“ I left  of  myself.”  The  reply  was  so  low  that  Mary 
could  hardly  hear  it ; but  she  guessed  the  truth  from 
Nan’s  face,  and  though  she  asked  no  more  questions, 
she  was  certain  in  her  own  mind  that  the  girl  had  run 
away,  and  that  this  was  the  secret  of  the  guilty,  fright- 
ened look  so  often  to  be  seen  on  her  face.  Having  got 
so  far  Mary  would  have  added  more,  but  at  this 
moment  a voice  was  heard  calling,  “ Mrs  Hilton,  Mrs 
Hilton,  come  quick,  the  matron  is  looking  for  you,” 
aud  she  was  obliged  to  go  directly. 

A minute  or  two  afterwards  the  sound  of  a glad  cry 
came  in  through  the  open  window  to  Nan,  who  was 
moodily  finishing  her  tea.  It  was  a cry  such  as  she 
had  never  heard  before,  but  it  sounded  as  if  some  one 
had  suddenly  been  saved  from  sadness  and  danger ; as 


132 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


if  the  burden  of  a lifetime’s  sorrow  had  been  rolled, 
away ; as  if  hope  and  love  and  joy  had  suddenly  been 
set  free  after  long  imprisonment.  Not  that  Nan 
thought  all  this ; it  was  only  that  some  one  was  happy, 
and  was  almost  crying  with  happiness,  that  she  knew. 
She  crept  to  the  window  and  looked  down  into  the 
courtyard,  and  saw  Mary  Hilton  there,  with  her  head 
resting  on  the  shoulder  of  a weather-beaten  sailor, 
whose  arms  were  round  her,  while  the  matron  stood  near 
with  a happy  face,  half-laughing  and  half-crying  with 
pleasure.  Then  Nan  knew  what  it  all  meant  in  an 
instant.  Mary’s  husband  had  come  back  to  her,  and 
she  would  be  leaving  the  workhouse.  And  when  the 
girl  thought  of  this  she  came  away  from  the  window 
and  did  not  seem  any  longer  to  care  to  watch  Mary’s 
pleasure,  but  laid  her  head  on  her  arms  which  were 
resting  on  the  table,  and  did  not  look  up  again  until 
she  heard  her  friend’s  voice  speaking  to  her. 

“ Nan  ! Nan  ! he  ’s  come  back,”  said  Mary,  and  her 
voice  was  quite  hoarse  with  joy. 

“ Yes,”  said  Nan,  still  not  looking  up. 

“ Aren’t  you  glad  for  me,  child  ? I feel  as  if  I never 
could  thank  God  enough,  and  there ’s  my  boy  all  safe 
too ! though  he ’s  not  come  home,  he ’s  joined  another 
ship.” 

“ I suppose  you  be  going  away  now,”  said  Nan,  who 
had  not  yet  learnt  enough  of  unselfishness  to  be  glad  for 
another’s  joy  at  the  expense  of  pain  to  herself. 


JOY  FOR  MARY  HILTON . 


133 


“ To-morrow,”  said  Mary  ; “ the  master  very  kindly 
said  I might  go  to-night,  though  it  wasn’t  rules,  but  I 
thought  poor  Sarah  Martin,  who ’s  so  ill,  would  miss  me 
in  the  night,  so  I had  better  stop,  and  my  husband  he ’s 
looking  for  a little  new  home  for  us  all  to  go  to  to- 
morrow.” 

Nan’s  face  was  hidden  again,  and  Mary  could  not 
understand  her  silence,  but  she  guessed  what  it  meant 
a moment  after,  when  a deep  sob  broke  from  the 
girl. 

“ Then,  then,  my  dear,  don’t  ’ee  fret,  I won’t  forget 
you,  Nan,  I ’ll  try  and  do  something  for  you  by  and  by ; 
and  now  you’re  nearly  strong  again,  ain’t  you,  and 
you  ’ll  be  back  again  in  the  able-bodied  ward  in  a very 
short  time,  and  then,  my  dear,  you  ’ll  try  to  be  steady 
and  good,  won’t  you,  and  keep  your  temper,  and  do  a 
kind  turn  for  any  one  you  can;  you  can’t  imagine  the 
difference  it  will  make  in  your  life.  Oh  me  ! I hardly 
know  what  I ’m  saying,  I ’m  that  happy, — to  think  that 
when  I had  begun  to  believe  that  they  were  both 
drowned, — that  God  should  have  saved  them  for  me, 
and  brought  them  back  to  me,  and  delivered  me  out 
of  all  my  troubles.  It ’s  like  a story  out  of  the  Bible,  I 
say.” 

“ Like  Jonah  in  the  ark,  as  I ’ve  heard  the  chaplain 
tell  about,”  said  Nan. 

“ In  the  whale,  my  dear,  you  mean  ; it  was  Noah  in 
the  ark.” 


134 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SIL  VER. 


“Well,  I can't  remember  their  names,  but  I've  heard 
him  say  something  about  them  being  saved  out  of  the 

waters.  I say,  Mrs  Hilton  ” 

“ Well.” 

“ Do  ’ee  try  to  find  me  a place.  I can't  abide  stay- 
ing here  no  more,  and — and  now  you  're  going,  it  'll  be 
worse  than  all.” 

“But,  Nan,  who ’s  to  know  what  you’re  good  for? 
can  I say  you  ’re  honest,  and  you  ’re  clean,  and  you  ’re 
good-tempered,  and  all  that  a missus  wants  to  know 
about  ? ” 

Nan  did  not  answer ; life  seemed  so  utterly  hopeless 
as  she  looked  out  into  it,  with  no  character,  no  friends, 
no  money,  that  her  heart  died  down  within  her.  At  last 
she  said,  “ I 'd  try,”  and  then  the  dormitory  bell  rang, 
and  it  was  time  for  her  to  go  to  bed. 

“ I mayn't  see  you  in  the  morning,  perhaps,”  said 
Mary,  “so  good-bye,  my  dear,”  and  she  kissed  her. 
“You  keep  up  a brave  heart,  and  you  pray  to  God  to 
make  you  a good  girl,  and  I think  something  good  will 
come  for  you  soon.” 

For  an  instant,  the  longing  came  back  to  Nan  to  tell 
her  all  her  story,  but  it  was  too  late  then,  and  so  the 
time  went  by,  and  it  remained  untold,  but  just  as  she 
was  leaving  the  room  she  turned  back,  and  coming 
over  to  Mary  Hilton,  she  thrust  the  gilt  brooch  which 
she  had  stolen  from  Mrs  Jackson  (and  had  managed  to 
hide  when  she  was  searched  on  entering  the  workhouse) 


JOY  FOR  MARY  HILTON. 


135 


into  her  hands,  and  said  hurriedly,  “ That’s  all  I’ve 
got — you  keep  it.” 

Mary  looked  at  the  brooch,  and  would  much  rather 
not  have  kept  it,  for  sham  finery  was  not  much  to  her 
taste,  but  she  did  not  like  to  hurt  Nan’s  feelings,  and 
the  girl  was  looking  at  her  so  wistfully  with  the  tears 
standing  in  her  eyes,  that  she  could  not  refuse ; she  did 
not  know  that  the  brooch  was  stolen. 

Thus  they  parted,  but  it  was  not  a parting  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


gait’s  Sctonfr  |jlaa. 

Poor,  indeed,  thou  must  be,  if  around  thee 
Thou  no  ray  of  light  and  joy  canst  throw ; 

If  no  silken  cord  of  love  hath  bound  thee 
To  some  little  world,  through  weal  and  woe.’* 

— Heart- Music. 


f 


N a few  days  Nan  was  back  again  at  work. 
“ Her  illness  has  done  her  a deal  of 
good/’  said  some  of  the  women,  who 
noticed  how  much  her  manner  was  softened, 
and  how  much  more  diligent  she  was  than  she 
had  been  before.  It  was  not  the  illness  though, 
which  had  worked  the  change ; it  was  the  kind 
words  of  a friend  which  still  remained  in  her 
heart ; it  was  the  feeling  that  some  one  had 
cared  what  became  of  her,  which  made  Nan  wish, 
though  as  yet  in  a very  feeble  way,  to  be  different 
from  what  she  had  hitherto  been  ; and  the  more 
she  thought  of  these  things,  the  more  she  hated 
to  think  of  the  days  that  were  past,  the  more 
she  shrunk  from  her  old  companions  in  the 
workhouse. 


NAN’S  SECOND  PLACE. 


137 


The  wild  and  disorderly  girls  laughed  at  her  when 
she  would  no  longer  join  in  their  frolics,  and  said  she 
was  growing  a saint,  and  that  she  had  better  take  to 
preaching  sermons  ; and  those  of  the  quieter  and  better 
sort  kept  aloof  from  her,  on  account  of  her  having 
belonged  to  the  wild  set  before  she  was  ill — so  that  she 
wTas  left  very  lonely  between  them  ; and  it  did  seem  very 
hard  trying  to  be  better.  Sometimes  she  found  it  so 
hard,  that  she  would  give  it  up  entirely ; but  then  there 
generally  came  to  her  some  thought  of  Mary,  and  of 
Mary’s  words,  and  she  would  feebly  try  again. 

There  was  one  young  woman  who  seemed  more 
inclined  to  be  friendly  than  any  one  else ; she  had  given 
up  her  seat  to  Nan  when  she  came  back  to  work  after 
her  illness,  that  she  might  be  out  of  the  draught,  and 
she  had  often  asked  how  she  was ; but  she. was  a rough, 
careless  sort  of  girl,  and  did  not  think  it  was  any  busi- 
ness of  hers  to  trouble  herself  any  further.  However, 
the  two  girls  struck  up  a sort  of  friendship,  and  almost 
the  first  kind  action  that  Nan  had  ever  done  for  any 
one,  she  did  for  Jessie  Jones. 

There  was  a letter  for  Jessie  one  day,  which  she 
fingered,  and  turned  round  and  looked  at  very  curiously, 
while  Nan  was  sitting  at  work  near  her;  a little  while 
ago  Nan  would  have  taken  no  notice  of  anything  that 
happened  to  others,  she  would  have  had  no  thought  to 
spare  from  herself  and  her  troubles,  to  rejoice  with 
their  joy  or  to  sorrow  with  their  grief ; but  she  felt 


138 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


differently  now,  and  when  she  saw  Jessie’s  face  looking 
so  happy,  and  yet  so  longing  and  wistful,  she  felt  a 
little  glad  also,  and  said,  “ Have  you  heard  some  good 
news  V ’ 

“ I don’t  know,”  answered  Jessie ; “I'm  no  scholard, 
and  I can ’t  make  out  a word  of  it.” 

Nan  laughed,  “ Shall  I try  ? ” 

“ Now^do,  there ’s  a good  girl ; I think  it ’s  from  my 
brother  in  America,  and  aunt  has  sent  it  on  to  me. 
Ah  ! poor  Tom,  he  don ’t  fancy  where  I am,  I know.” 
Nan  unfolded  the  letter.  Inside  the  envelope  was 
written  by  Jessie’s  aunt,  “This  has  come  from  Tom, 
hoping  this  finds  you  well  as  it  leaves  us  at  present, — 
Your  affectionate  Aunt,  Sarah  Tomkins.” 

“Ah  ! that’s  him,”  said  Jessie,  her  face  shining  with 
pleasure.  “Now  get  on,  Nan.” 

Nan  was  not  a great  scholar  herself,  but  by  slow 
degrees  she  managed  to  spell  out  the  letter  from  Jessie’s 
brother.  He  had  got  Work  in  New  York,  and  he  said 
it  would  be  a very  good  thing  if  Jessie  could  come  out 
there,  that  there  were  plenty  of  openings  for  her.  Jessie 
had  been  a seamstress,  and  had  worked  regularly  for  a 
large  shop  in  the  city,  which  had  failed,  leaving  her  with 
no  money  and  no  means  of  getting  any.  For  several  days 
she  had  wandered  about  looking  for  employment,  and 
had  got  none,  and  at  last  she  had  been  obliged  to  come 
to  the  workhouse.  Her  brother  did  not  know  all  this,  but 
he  did  know  that  she  had  been  very  much  underpaid, 


NAN\ S SECOND  PLACE. 


139 


and  that  she  was  very  lonely  ; so  that  was  reason  enough 
for  him  to  wish  her  to  join  him. 

Jessie's  face  brightened  more  and  more  as  she  heard 
the  words.  44 That's  right,  that's  right,  but  go  on, 
Nan." 

There  was  not  much  more  than  this,  only  that  Jessie’s 
old  friend,  Ralph  Banks,  was  getting  on  well  in  the  same 
place,  and  often  asked  about  her ; and  when  Jessie 
heard  this  her  face  grew  happier  than  ever ; but  when 
she  had  heard  to  the  last,  her  bright  looks  suddenly 
clouded. 

44  What  can  I do  ? Here ’s  Tom  saying  he  'll  send  me 
money  if  I want  to  go,  but  how  can  I tell  him  % I, 
that  can’t  write  a word;  and  what  ever  ’ll  he  say  to  hear 
I’m  in  the  workhouse  h ” 

44  Do  you  wrant  to  go  all  off  there  ? Did  you  say  it 
was  across  the  sea  ? ” 

44 1 should  think  it  was  ? why  it  takes  near  a fort- 
night on  the  sea  to  get  there." 

44  I wouldn’t  go,"  said  Nan. 

44  Wouldn’t  go  ? not  if  you ’d  a chance  of  getting  out 
of  this  h not  if  you 'd  a brother,  and  friends  out  there 
as  cared  for  you  V9 

A quick  thought  of  Joey  came  to  Nan,  and  she  felt 
that  if  she  had  had  such  a letter  as  that  from  Joey,  she 
would  have  gone  anywhere  for  him.  44  Perhaps  I 
would,"  she  said ; 44  but  I haven’t  got  no  one  to  care 
for  me  anywdiere” — and  then  there  followed  a thought 


140 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


of  Mary  Hilton ; and  for  the  sake  of  all  the  kindness 
which  Mary  had  shown  her,  Nan  said,  “ I ’m  slow  at  it, 
Jess,  but  I ’ll  try  to  write  that  as  you  want,  if  you  ’ll 
find  the  paper.”  Thanks  to  Peter,  Nan  was  able  to 
write  in  some  sort  of  fashion,  though  it  was  very  hard 
to  make  out  one  of  her  letters,  both  from  its  bad  spelling, 
and  the  straggling  way  in  which  it  was  written. 

However,  Jessie  gladly  accepted  her  offer,  and  the 
first  spare  time  that  they  had,  they  set  to  work  at  the 
composition. 

“ How  am  I to  begin  ? ” asked  Nan,  who  had  got 
her  fingers  very  inky,  and  had  smeared  them  down 
her  dress  before  she  had  written  a word. 

“ My  dear  brother,”  suggested  Jessie. 

“ I can’t  spell  ‘ brother it ’s  too  long,”  said  Nan. 

“Well,  then,  ‘ My  dear  Tom.’” 

There  was  a long  pause,  in  which  Nan  painfully 
scrawled  the  words,  and  then  drew  her  ink-smeared 
fingers  again  over  her  dark  petticoat. 

“I  was  delighted  to  receive  your  kind  letter,  and 
hopes  this  will  find  you  well,  as  it  leaves  me  in  the 
London  Workhouse.” 

“ Wait  a bit,”  said  Nan,  “ I can’t  put  all  that.  I 
can’t  spell  those  words  a bit,  I never  learnt  ’em ; now, 
let ’s  see.  ‘ I got  yours,  and  hopes  this  finds  you  in  the 
workhouse/  ” 

“ No  ! no  ! ” roared  Jessie,  “ not  that — I hopes  it 
finds  him  well.”  Nan  did  her  best,  but  it  was  not  very 


NAN'S  SECOND  PLACE. 


141 


clear  what  she  put  at  last.  However,  Jessie  went  on  : 
“ I lost  my  work  at  Smith’s,  and  I was  near  starved, 
and  I had  to  come  here,  and  I couldn’t  get  any  more 
work.”  Some  of  this  also  Nan  managed  to  write,  and 
then  Jessie  continued : 44  Do,  dear  brother,  send  me  the 
money,  and  take  me  out  of  this which  Nan  cut  down 
to,  44  Do  send  and  take  me  out  of  this.” 

“ And  I ’ll  come  at  once.” 

“ And  I ’ll  come  once,”  said  Nan,  nodding,  after  five 
minutes’  hard  work. 

44  And  my  love  to  all  inquiring  friends.” 

“ I can’t  do  4 inquiring,’  or  4 friends.’  I don’t  know 
a bit  about  them  words,”  objected  Nan.  44  Can’t  you  say 
the  man’s  name  he  says,  it  was  short.” 

44  Well,  my  love  to  Ralph  Banks.” 

Nan  made  an  attempt  at  this  also. 

44  And  Almighty  God  bless  you,”  said  Jessie,  think- 
ing it  was  right  to  make  a pious  ending  to  a letter  that 
w^as  going  so  far  off. 

44  No  ! I don’t  know  nothing  about  that,”  said  Nan. 

44  Well,  never  mind  that,  so  long  as  you ’ve  put  about 
the  money  ; and  4 1 am,  yours  truly,  your  sister,  Jessie 
Jones.’  ” 

44  Now  it ’s  done,”  said  Nan,  in  a tone  of  relief ; 44  it ’s 
a bit  blotted,  but  he  ’ll  make  it  out.  Now,  what ’s  to 
put  on  the  envelope  ? ” 

44  Tom  Jones,  America,”  suggested  Jessie. 

44  That  won’t  do,  if  it ’s  a big  place  ; the  postman 


142 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SIL  VEIL 


might  never  find  him,”  said  a woman,  who  was  near. 
“ What  town  is  he  in,  my  dear]” 

“New  York.” 

“ Then  you ’d  better  put  New  York,  near  America,” 
advised  the  vroman. 

“That  doesn’t  sound  right  somehow.  I think  I’ll 
send  it  to  aunt,  and  she  ’ll  get  it  sent  right.  So  please, 
Nan,  you  just  put, — £Mrs  Tomkins,  Crown  Place,  Is- 
lington,’ and  then  you  write,  c please  send  to  Tom,’  very 
plain,  where  she  ’ll  see  it.” 

But  this  was  quite  beyond  Nan,  who  put  something 
like, — “ Mrs  Tomkins,  please  send  Tom  to  Crown 
Place,” — and  left  the  direction  in  such  a confused  state, 
that  it  was  impossible  for  any  postman  to  make  it  out. 

However,  the  matron,  when  she  came  her  rounds, 
very  good-naturedly  took  charge  of  it,  promised  to  put 
it  in  a fresh  envelope,  and  put  a stamp  upon  it,  so  that 
Jessie’s  mind  wTas  quite  relieved. 

Nan  could  hardly  understand  why  she  felt  so  happy 
when  Jessie  thanked  her,  and  said,  “ She’d  never  forget 
that  good  turn  she ’d  done  her” — it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  ever  tried  to  do  a kindness  for  any  one. 

Two  or  three  days  after,  it  was  Nan’s  turn  to  help  in 
the  bakehouse,  and  she  had  just  pulled  her  arms  out  of 
the  great  tub  of  dough  which  she  was  kneading,  when 
some  one  said,  “ Nan  Downing ’s  being  asked  for.”  Ah! 
how  the  guilty  terror  came  back  with  a rush  to  her — it 
might  even  now  be  the  policeman  or  Mrs  Jackson — 


NAN'S  SECOND  PLACE. 


143 


fear  was  so  much  more  common  a feeling  with  her  than 
hope,  that  she  never  thought  it  possible  that  it  could 
be  a friend,  and  she  did  not  want  to  show  herself.  But 
the  fear  all  went  away  a moment  after,  when  she  heard 
Mary  Hilton’s  voice  saying  her  name. 

“ Well,  Han,  I haven’t  forgotten  you.” 

Han  could  hardly  speak  for  pleasure  at  seeing  her. 

“ Did  you  think  you ’d  never  see  me  again,  poor 
child?”  and  Mary  smiled  that  same  smile  which  had 
lived  in  Han’s  heart  during  all  the  weary  days  since  she 
went  away.  Han’s  hands  were  grasping  her  shawl 
tightly,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

“ I ’ve  been  hearing  such  nice  things  of  you,  Han, 
how  you ’ve  quite  been  trying  to  be  a good  girl,  and 
mind  your  work.” 

Han  looked  up  gratefully.  If  she  had  tried  at  all, 
it  was  for  her  friend’s  sake,  and  she  was  glad  that  she 
should  know  it. 

“ What  do  you  think  I ’ve  come  for  ?” 

“ Did  you  come  to  see  me  ? ” 

“ Yes  ! and  for  more  than  that.  I ’ve  come  to  say, 
I ’ll  try  you  for  a servant,  if  you  ’ll  promise  to  do  your 
best.” 

Han  looked  into  Mary’s  face  very  keenly  for  a minute. 
“ You  ’re  going  to  take  me  to  live  along  with  you,  and 
do  for  you  ? ” she  asked,  hoarsely,  feeling  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  that  such  good  news  could  be  for 
her. 


144 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“ Yes,  my  man  says  I must  have  some  one  to  help 
me,  now  that  the  old  folks  live  with  us ; and  when  he 
said  I must  get  a girl,  I thought  of  you.  I’ve  got 
some  work  to  do,  and  it  ’ll  take  up  my  time  a good  bit, 
and  I want  a girl  who’ll  be  willing,  and  handy,  and 
clean,  and  mind  what  I tell  her ; and  we  ’ll  give  you  a 
shilling  a week,  and  keep  you ; and  you  and  me  we  ’ll 
save  up  your  wages,  for  them  tidy  clothes  you  want  so 
bad.” 

Nan  wondered  for  a moment  whether,  if  Mary  Hilton 
knew  the  story  of  the  past,  she  would  still  take  her, 
but  she  was  not  strong  enough  in  her  love  of  right  and 
truth,  to  risk  losing  this  newly-found  happiness,  and  she 
only  sobbed  for  joy  as  she  answered,  “ I ’ll  try,  I will. 
I ’ve  never  tried  to  be  a good  girl  before,  but  I ’ll  try 
ever  so  now.” 

“ I ’m  sure  you  will,”  said  Mary.  “ And  now  listen 
till  I tell  you  where  it  is  I live,  for  you  ’ll  have  to  find 
your  way  to-morrow  morning, — or  stay,  I ’ll  meet  you 
at  the  workhouse  gate  when  you  come  out,  and  bring 
you  home,  that  will  be  best.” 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  in  a happy  dream  to  Nan ; 
nothing  seemed  hopeless  or  dreary  any  longer,  she  was 
to  be  with  Mary  Hilton,  and  to  learn  from  her,  and 
there  was  to  be  no  more  workhouse  life  or  street  wan- 
dering for  her,  no  more  fear  of  Mrs  Jackson,  or  of  the 
policeman ; a new  hope  and  a new  life  were  before  her,  and 
all  the  old  trouble  seemed  to  be  buried  away  for  ever. 


NAN'S  SECOND  PLACE. 


145 


Slie  had  not  many  good-byes  to  say  in  the  workhouse. 
Jessie  Jones  was  truly  glad  “ to  hear  of  her  luck,”  as 
she  said,  and  was  so  happy  in  the  prospect  which  was 
opened  before  herself  that  she  could  see  her  friend  go 
away  without  any  envy,  and  there  was  no  one  else  who 
felt  any  interest  in  Nan  Downing.  How  bright  and 
glad  even  the  dingy  streets  looked  the  next  morning, 
as  she  stood  in  her  old  clothes  at  the  door  of  the  ’work- 
house  ; never  had  she  felt  so  glad  and  so  hopeful  as 
when  the  great  doors  shut  behind  her,  and  almost  be- 
wildered at  the  thought  of  her  freedom,  she  began  to 
descend  the  steps,  and  to  look  about  for  Mary.  She  had 
not  far  to  look,  for  Mrs  Hilton  was  just  coming  round 
the  corner  of  the  street,  but  she  was  hardly  prepared 
for  the  change  which  Nan’s  own  bad  clothes  made  in 
her  appearance ; Mary  had  always  seen  her  in  the  work- 
house  dress,  in  which  she  looked  clean  and  neat  and 
respectable,  but  now  she  looked  anything  but  clean 
and  respectable,  and  Mary  was  almost  ashamed  to  be 
seen  walking  with  her. 

“ I must  give  her  something  tidy  to  put  on,  the  very 
first  thing,”  she  said  to  herself,  “ or  Ned  will  never 
stand  to  see  her  in  the  house.  There ’s  that  dress  of 
poor  Lizzie’s,  I don’t  know  that  I could  do  anything 
better  with  it,  and  there ’s  my  old  boots,  which  I can 
mend  up.” 

Nan  was  too  happy  to  trouble  herself  about  her 
clothes;  as  she  walked  along  she  could  almost  have  sung 

K 


146 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


for  joy ; she  fancied  that  even  the  people  who  passed 
her  in  the  street  looked  pleasanter  than  they  had  ever 
looked  before,  as  if  they  were  sharing  her  good  fortune. 

“ Here  we  are,”  said  Mary;  “ now  rub  your  feet  clean 
before  you  come  in,”  and  she  opened  the  door  of  a small 
house  in  a back  street,  and  brought  Nan  into  a cheerful 
little  room  where  an  old  man  and  woman  were  sitting 
by  a bright  fire,  with  a large  black  cat  asleep  between 
them,  where  everything  was  clean  and  neat,  though 
nothing  was  grand,  where  the  furniture  and  the  pictures 
on  the  wall,  and  the  row  of  crockery  and  pewter  on  the 
chimney-piece,  all  shone  with  cleaning  and  polishing, 
and  where  a parrot  gravely  called  out  from  his  cage, 
“ Breakfast ’s  ready,  come,  look  sharp.”  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  as  she  looked  round  the  pleasant  tidy  room, 
it  struck  Nan  how  dirtily  and  badly  she  was  dressed, 
and  what  a dark  contrast  she  was  to  everything  about 
her,  and  she  hung  her  head  with  shame.  She  had 
never  known  any  one  so  clean  and  neat  in  all  ways  as 
Mrs  Hilton  must  be ; the  workhouse  authorities  had 
insisted  on  a certain  amount  of  cleanliness,  it  was  true  ; 
but  then  it  was  a perpetual  drudgery  of  cleaning,  and  to 
Mary  Hilton  it  seemed  to  be  a positive  pleasure.  “ How 
can  I sit  down  to  my  work,”  she  would  say,  “ feeling 
that  my  hands  and  face  are  smutty,  that  my  hair  is 
untidy,  that  my  dress  is  torn,  or  that  the  room  hasn’t 
been  dusted,  or  the  floor  washed  ? Why,  I ’d  sooner  set 
to  my  work  without  having  had  my  breakfast.”  And 


NAN'S  SECOND  PLACE. 


147 


Nan  had  heard  her  once  say  to  a woman  in  the  work- 
house,  who  was  complaining  of  the  trouble  of  keeping 
a house  clean,  “ What’s  the  good  of  having  a home 
if  you  don’t  keep  it  clean  and  comfortable  1 Why, 
bless  you,  the  home  is  given  us,  to  be  kept  for  God, 
just  the  same  as  ourselves  is,  and  our  children,  and 
anything  else  as  belongs  to  us,  and  it  isn’t  like  keeping 
it  for  Him  to  have  it  dirty,  and  everything  lying  about 
in  a muddle.  If  we  ask  Him  to  be  in  the  midst  of  us,  we 
should  try  to  make  the  place  as  fit  for  Him  as  we  can ; 
He  don’t  care  for  it  to  be  grand  or  fine,  but  He  do  care 
for  it  to  be  clean.” 

And  it  was  this  wonderful  new  feeling  of  order  and 
cleanliness  that  came  upon  Nan,  as  she  looked  about 
her,  and  felt  how  different  this  home  was  to  anything 
she  had  ever  seen  before,  and  how  unfit  she  was  to  be 
in  it,  and  she  felt  inclined  to  turn  straight  round  from 
it  all,  and  run  out  at  the  street  door,  and  get  back  into 
the  old  life,  where  she  might  be  dirty,  and  untidy,  and 
wicked  still,  and  no  one  would  care ; but  as  the  girl 
glanced  down  at  her  own  clothes,  Mary  caught  the  look 
and  understood  it. 

“ You  come  along  with  me,”  she  said,  “I’ve  a dress 
as  will  fit  you;”  and  she  took  her  up  to  the  garret  which 
she  had  made  ready  for  her,  and  brought  her  a dark 
dress  of  Lizzie’s.  “ There,”  she  said,  u now,  you  try  to 
be  a clean,  tidy  girl  in  that  dress,  for  I shall  like  to 
think  you  ’re  wearing  it,  if  you  are.  And  I don’t  much 


148 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


hold  with  your  wearing  this,”  and  she  touched  a net  of 
greasy  silk  and  glass  beads,  wdiich  Nan  wore  over  her 
hair ; “ I ’ve  got  a brush  and  comb  for  you  here,  and 
you  try  to  keep  your  hair  tidy ; my  master,  he  likes 
womenkind  to  have  their  hair  smooth  ; here,  I 'll  show 
you  the  way  to-day,  and  then  you 'll  know  for  yourself 
another  time,”  and  Mary  showed  her  how  to  divide  it 
and  brush  it  piece  by  piece.  It  was  very  short  hair 
then,  for  most  of  it  had  been  cut  off  in  the  fever,  but 
she  made  it  look  quite  tidy  as  she  smoothed  it  away  be- 
hind Nan's  ears,  and  tied  a piece  of  narrow  black  ribbon 
round  it  to  keep  it  in  its  place.  And  when  Nan  had 
got  on  Lizzie’s  dress,  and  a pair  of  Mrs  Hilton’s  boots, 
she  looked  much  more  the  kind  of  servant  that  a mis- 
tress would  like  to  see  in  her  bouse. 

“ Now,  you  know,  Nan,”  said  her  friend,  “ this  dress 
would  soon  wear  out  if  you  wore  it  for  rough  work  and 
for  best,  so  we  must  get  your  other  washed  as  soon  as 
we  can,  and  mended  up.  I don’t  mind  if  it ’s  a bit 
faded  so  long  as  it ’s  clean,  and  we  can  be  quite  sure 
of  that  if  we  use  enough  soap  and  water ; you  shall 
do  that  this  afternoon.  Now,  you  come  along  down 
and  help  me  to  get  the  dinner  ready,  and  I’ll  lend 
you  a big  over-all  to  cover  up  your  gown.  Here,  we  ’ll 
pin  it  up  at  the  back.” 

Mrs  Hilton  then  led  the  way  to  the  kitchen  where 
the  old  people  sat  by  the  fire.  “ Mother,”  she  said, 
loudly,  for  her  mother-in-law  was  somewhat  deaf  from 


WAN'S  SECOND  PLACE. 


149 


age,  “ this  is  our  girl,  Nan.  I hope  she  s going  to 
be  a great  help  to  me.” 

The  old  woman  looked  round  and  chuckled  pleasantly, 
“ I hope  she  be,  my  dear,  I hope  she  be.  It  be  much 
pleasanter  here  than  in  the  workhouse,  ain't  it,  lass? 
Not  but  what  they  was  mostly  kind  enough  to  me  there, 
but  it ’s  not  what  I like,  to  have  folk  all  a-moaning  and 
a-groaning  about  me.  Poor  things,  I dare  say  they  was 
all  very  bad ; but,  for  my  part,  while  the  Lord  leaves 
me  my  health,  I ’ll  be  contented.  Not  but  what  I ’m 
very  bad  with  the  rheumatics — ain’t  I,  Mary  ? — and 
the  asthma,  but  then  you  see  I did  try  to  keep  a cheery 
face  about  it ; and  when  they  did  any  of  ’em  ask  how 
I was,  I didn’t  answer  ’em  all  whining  or  snappish 
like,  as  if  it  was  their  faults  that  I ’d  got  the  rheumatics 
or  was  bad  in  the  breathing.  And  now  there ’s  our 
Ned  come  back,  and  it ’s  all  right  again,  thank  the 
Lord,  and  I can  sit  as  near  the  fire  as  I like ; can’t  I, 
Mary  ? ” and  the  old  woman  chuckled  again. 

“ Yes,  mother;  that  you  can,  and  we ’ll- make  it  a 
bright  one.” 

“ So  you’ve  come  to  be  Mary’s  servant,  have  you?” 
and  the  old  woman  looked  up  at  Nan.  “ You  don’t 
look  very  strong ; — but  you  said  she ’d  been  ill,  didn’t 
you,  my  dear  ? ” 

“ Yes,  mother.” 

“ Well,  now,  you  mind  and  be  clean  and  tidy,  and 
don’t  you  go  playing  and  idling  about,  but  stick  to 


150 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


your  work.  Father,  wake  up  now,  and  look  at  the 
new  servant-girl. ” 

The  old  man,  who  was  dozing  in  his  chair,  turned 
round  at  the  sound  of  his  wife’s  voice.  “ What ’s  her 
name  ? ” he  said,  sleepily. 

“ Nan,  father,”  answered  Mary. 

“ Nan  ! ” he  laughed  heartily. 

“What  be  you  laughing  at,  father?”  asked  the  old 
woman. 

“ Why,  don’t  ’ee  remember,  mother,  how  we  had  an 
old  goat  called  Nan  ? ” 

“ Ay,  I remember ; ” and  then  she  laughed  too. 

“ I shall  be  for  ever  thinking  it  is  the  goat  when  I 
hear  her  name.” 

“Shall  we  call  you  Nancy?”  asked  Mary,  kindly, 
seeing  a cloud  come  over  the  girl’s  face. 

“No,”  she  said  sullenly;  “I  be  Nan,  and  I’ll  be 
nothing  but  Nan.” 

“ There,  there,  I was  only  joking,”  said  the  old  man, 
seeing  that  something  had  gone  wrong  though  he  could 
not  tell  what.  “ She  ’ll  be  a good  girl,  and  mind  what 
sne ’s  told,  and  then  we  ’ll  never  mistake  her  for  the 
goat.” 

Mary’s  husband  came  in,  in  time  for  the  early  din- 
ner. He  had  a pleasant  face,  and  gave  a kindly  greeting 
to  Nan,  telling  her  that  his  wife  had  said  how  ill  she 
had  been.  Perhaps  he  half  expected  to  draw* from  Nan 
some  grateful  praise  of  his  wife’s  kindness  in  nursing 


NAN’S  SECOND  PLACE. 


151 


her,  for  Ned  Hilton  knew  what  a good  woman  he  had 
got  for  a wife,  and  liked  to  hear  her  praised ; but  in 
this  he  was  disappointed,  for  Nan  kept  a sullen  silence, 
and  hardly  answered  his  questions. 

After  the  dinner-things  had  been  washed  and  put 
away,  she  was  told  to  wash  her  working-dress  and  after- 
wards to  mend  it,  which  gave  her  occupation  enough 
for  the  rest  of  that  day. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


®0tr  <£ltan  a Some. 


“Sinful  thoughts  of  pride  and  passion, 

Greedy  wishes,  selfish  care, 

In  our  human  hearts  lie  hidden. 

Ready  to  awaken  there. 

“Still  the  wrong  way  will  seem  pleasant, 

Still  the  right  way  will  seem  hard, 

All  our  life  we  shall  be  tempted. 

We  must  ever  be  on  guard.” 

— Hymns  for  Little  Children. 

ARY  HILTON  found  out  before  Nan 
bad  been  long  in  the  bouse  that  tbe 
task  wbicb  sbe  had  undertaken  of  saving 
this  girl  from  her  disorderly  and  careless  life 
would  be  no  easy  one,  and  that  it  would  require 
y*  patience  and  kindness  of  an  untiring  sort. 

For  a few  days  tbe  novelty  of  her  fresh  clothes 
and  tbe  extra  comfort  of  tbe  home  life  wbicb 
I she  was  for  tbe  first  time  allowed  to  share,  made 


fNan  wish,  with  a vague  unstable  wishing,  that 
she  could  be  more  like  all  she  sawr  around  her. 
T Then,  when  this  novelty  had  worn  off,  the  sense 
i of  contrast  between  her  own  self  and  this  ne  w life 


TOO  CLEAN  A HOME . 


153 


became  stronger  than  ever,  and  instead  of  setting  her  to 
work  to  overcome  the  faults  which  kept  her  back  from 
being  what  her  friend  wished  to  see  her,  it  made  her 
more  reserved,  more  sullen  and  dogged,  sometimes  even 
more  careless  about  doing  what  she  was  told  to  do. 

Day  after  day  Mrs  Hilton  would  tell  her  the  same 
things,  and  day  after  day  Han  forgot  to  do  them,  or 
if  she  did  not  entirely  forget,  she  did  them  so  care- 
lessly that  it  was  nearly  as  bad  as  not  doing  them  at 
all.  Instead  of  learning  from  Mrs  Hilton's  own  ex- 
ample to  be  cleanly  and  orderly,  Han  seemed  to  take 
pleasure  in  being  dirty  and  untidy.  I say  seemed , 
because  if  people  could  have  looked  into  the  girl's 
heart  they  would  have  seen  there  that  she  hated  herself 
for  being  so  unlike  her  mistress  ; that  it  was  a sort  of 
despair  which  had  taken  possession  of  her,  when  she 
compared  herself  and  her  life  with  that  with  which  she 
had  for  the  first  time  become  acquainted, — the  better 
and  higher  life  which  she  had  never  known  anything 
about  before. 

As  was  to  be  expected,  Han’s  untidy  and  careless 
ways  soon  began  to  tell  on  the  comfort  of  the  home. 
First  it  was  the  old  people  who  said  that  she  neglected 
them  ; that  the  food  was  badly  cooked  when  she  had 
to  do  it ; that  she  was  so  sullen  that  they  did  not  like 
to  look  at  her.  Then  by  degrees,  even  Mr  Hilton, 
who  tried  to  be  patient  with  the  workhouse-girl  for  his 
wife's  sake,  found  that  his  home  was  not  as  comfortable 


154 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


as  lie  liked  it  to  be,  and  that  his  wife  over- worked 
herself  in  trying  to  make  up  for  Nans  failures.  But 
Mary  held  true  to  her  kindly  purpose  through  all. 

“ It  will  take  time,”  she  would  say.  “ For  nearly 
seventeen  years  she  has  had  these  faults  growing  every 
day  in  her.  We  can’t  cut  them  down  and  put  them 
away  for  ever  in  a few  days  or  weeks.  When  she 
comes  to  value  cleanliness  and  order,  and  to  understand 
a bit  more  of  the  difference  they  make  to  our  lives, 
she  ’ll  be  more  inclined  to  practise  them.  Why,  Ned,” 
she  added,  laughingly,  to  her  husband,  " those  gold- 
diggers  you  were  telling  me  about,  you  wouldn’t  have 
me  think  they’d  spend  their  days  a-digging  and  delving 
for  gold  unless  they  knew  that  gold  meant  money ; till 
our  Nan  has  seen  that  the  orderliest  life  is  the  best 
life  and  the  one  that  pays  best,  you  can’t  think  she  ’ll 
be  orderly.” 

“ You  ’re  a wise  woman,  Mary,  but  don’t  let  her  slave 
your  life  out,  that ’s  all,”  her  husband  would  answer 
proudly,  and  then  for  a while  he  would  raise  no  more 
objections  to  Nan. 

And  all  this  time,  apart  from  the  feeling  of  irksome 
restraint,  and  from  the  shame  which  Nan  felt  for  falling 
so  far  short  of  Mary’s  clean  and  tidy  example,  there 
was  a gulf  between  them  which  seemed  to  widen  day 
by  day,  for  Nan  knew  that  if  she  were  really  true- 
hearted, she  would  have  told  her  mistress  the  story 
of  her  past  life,  and  as  she  heard  honesty  and  truth 


TOO  CLEAN  A HOME . 


155 


praised,  and  saw  how  those  with  whom  she  was  living 
tried  to  be  honest  and  true  in  their  lives,  she  felt  how 
dishonest  she  had  been.  She  tried  not  to  think  of  it, 
but  every  day  helped  to  make  the  past  seem  blacker 
and  the  burden  of  it  more  intolerable. 

Mary  Hilton  was  sorely  disappointed ; she  had  hoped 
much  from  Nan’s  affectionate  nature,  and  as  she  found 
her  own  influence  apparently  wearing  off,  she  feared 
that  her  efforts  for  making  Nan’s  life  happier  and  better, 
were  all  in  vain. 

Meanwhile  there  was  a strange  resolve  growing  up  in 
Nan’s  heart.  That  wild  wish  which  had  come  into  her 
mind,  as  she  stood  for  the  first  time  in  Mary  Hilton’s 
home,  and  had  felt  how  unfit  she  was  to  be  in  it,  that 
wish  to  turn  round,  and  run  back  into  the  old  life, 
where  no  one  cared  what  she  did,  where  there  was  no 
law,  no  order,  no  restraint,  where  shame  did  not  press 
upon  her  so  hard,  and  goodness  did  not  touch  her,  or 
cause  her  any  of  the  bitter  feelings  which  she  had  now ; 
that  wish  was  beginning  to  deepen  into  a steady  pur- 
pose. She  would  go  away  from  Mrs  Hilton,  she  would 
go  back  to  the  idle,  free  life  outside  that  bright  com- 
fortable home,  where  every  one  seemed  happy  except 
herself,  and  she  was  strengthened  in  this  resolution,  by 
a chance  meeting  which  took  place  one  day  in  the  street 
when  she  was  sent  on  an  errand  by  Mrs  Hilton.  Gene- 
rally her  mistress  did  not  allow  her  to  go  out  by  herself, 
or  for  long  at  a time,  but  on  this  day  she  had  had  a press 


156 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


of  work,  and  she  was  obliged  to  send  Nan  with,  some 
of  it  to  a distant  part  of  the  town.  It  was  as  she  was 
returning  home  that  Nan  suddenly  met  Amelia  Simson. 
She  did  not  see  her  until  a hand  was  stretched  over  her 
shoulder,  and  touched  her  cheek,  and  a loud  familiar 
voice  said,  “ Why  it ’s  Nan,  as  smart  as  a new  pin,  I 
declare.” 

“ ’Melia,  how  ever  did  you  get  here  ? ” gasped  Nan, 
only  half  pleased  to  see  her. 

“ Me,  why  I ’m  in  most  places,  I think  it ’s  more  for 
me  to  ask  how  did  you  get  here,  and  all  them  nice 
clothes,  when  I left  you  in  workhouse  rags.  Be  you 
turned  pious,  Nan?” 

“Not  that  I knows,  but  I ;ve  been  out  of  the  house 
this  ever  so  long, — I was  ill,  you  know.” 

“ I know,”  said  Amelia,  “ that  was  just  when  I went 
out.” 

“ And  then  Mrs  Hilton’s  husband  got  home  from  sea.” 

Amelia  gave  a quick  little  cry  of  pleasure,  “ No  ! did 
he  ? Well,  I be  right  glad  to  hear  that,  she  was  very  kind 
spoken,  she  was,  I be  right  glad  she’s  got  her  man.” 

“ Well,  and  then  she  came  and  took  me  out,  and  took 
me  to  be  her  servant,  and  gived  me  these  clothes.” 

“ Some  people’s  luck ’s  wonderful,”  said  Amelia,  turn- 
ing up  her  eyes. 

Then  catching  sight  of  the  sullen,  dissatisfied  look  on 
Nan’s  face,  she  went  on, — “ Well*  and  how  do  you  like 
it,  lots  of  prayers  and  good  talk  and  all  that  ? ” 


TOO  CLEAN  A HOME. 


157 


“ Yes,  there ’s  all  that,  and  worse.” 

“ What ’s  worse  h ” 

Then  Nan  spoke  out  desperately,  “It’s  all  so  clean,  I 
hate  it.” 

Amelia  burst  into  a loud  laugh,  “ My  word,  that ’s 
good,  — too  clean  for  you,  eh  h ” 

“ Yes  it  ’s  scrub,  scrub,  polish,  polish,  dust  and  mend, 
and  clean  up  from  morning  till  night,  and  I must  have 
a clean  face,  and  I must  keep  my  dress  neat,  and  I must 
be  always  at  it.” 

“ I dare  say  it ’s  dull,  I know  I ’d  hate  it,”  said  |ier 
bad  counsellor.  “ I say,  Nan,  you ’d  have  had  better  fun 
if  you  ’d  corned  away  with  me.” 

“ I sometimes  wish  I had,”  Nan  answered  moodily; 
then  as  if  a sudden  touch  of  remorse  had  come  to  her 
with  some  thought  of  all  Mary’s  goodness,  she  added, 
“ But  missus  is  very  good  to  me  most  times,  if  she 
wasn’t  always  at  it  about  being  clean  and  tidy.” 

“ Oh  ! I dare  say,”  said  Amelia,  hooking  her  arm  into 
Nan’s  and  leading  her  along  the  street;  “ but  then  you 
see  such  partikler  ways  don’t  do  for  a girl  of  spirit.  I 
say,  Nan,  I dare  say  you  han’t  got  all  the  spirit  now  you 
had  wThen  you  first  came  to  the  house;  what  a good  ’un 
you  used  to  be  for  rows  then.” 

“ I ’d  be  just  as  good  now,”  said  Nan. 

They  were  silent  for  a few  minutes.  Then  Amelia 
said  : “ If  it  be  really  so  strict,  and  so  clean — if  I was 
you,  I ’d  take  to  the  songs  after  all ; now,  you  just  join 


158 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


me,  and  1 11  put  you  up  to  a thing  or  two,  and  we  11 
make  a life  of  it  together.” 

Nan  looked  at  her  wistfully — the  proposal  was  made 
in  a kind,  friendly  voice  ; and  here  seemed  the  very 
chance  which  she  had  been  looking  for — she  might  be 
free  at  once. 

“ Missus  would  be  awful  vexed,”  she  said,  slowly. 

“ Missus  needn’t  know  nothing  about  it : you  just 
slip  off  on  the  sly,  and  1 11  meet  you.  1 11  engage  it 
not  the  first  time  you  Ve  run  away.” 

Ah ! Nan  knew  that  life  would  not  seem  so  dark  and 
hopeless  to  her,  if  it  had  not  been  that  the  memory  of 
that  first  running  away  hung  round  her  neck  like  a heavy 
clog,  keeping  her  back  from  all  that  was  good  and  right. 

“ Where  do  you  live  h ” asked  Amelia. 

Nan  mentioned  the  name  of  the  street. 

“ Ah ! there  ’s  the  bridge  close  by  there ; well,  if  you 
like  to  come,  1 11  meet  you  on  the  bridge  to-morrow 
night.” 

“ No  ! not  to-morrow  night — that  wouldn’t  do — for 
missus  would  be  at  home,  and  I couldn’t  get  away  well ; 
but  Sunday  night,  she  and  master  go  out  to  church,  and 
there ’s  only  the  old  folks  left  at  home,  and  they  be 
generally  asleep  : I ;d  come  Sunday  night.” 

“ All  right,  then  ; 1 11  be  there  as  soon  as  it ’s  getting 
darkish ; and  see  if  I don’t  give  you  a bit  of  fun. 
Why,  I ’ve  got  a friend  that  11  treat  me  to  anything, 
and  you  too,  if  I ask  it.” 


TOO  CLEAN  A HOME. 


159 


“ I ’ll  come,”  said  Nan,  and  slie  meant  it. 

Then  Amelia  left  her,  and  she  hurried  home  as  fast 
as  she  could,  afraid  that  she  had  already  delayed  so  long 
as  to  give  rise  to  suspicion. 

But  Mary  only  lifted  her  head  from  her  work  for 
a moment,  as  she  entered,  and  said, — “Well,  child, 
are  you  tired  h it  ?s  a long  walk ; take  your  bonnet  off, 
and  here  ’s  a good  cup  of  tea  I’ve  been  keeping  for 
you.” 

There  was  something  in  the  kind  voice  and  action 
which  seemed  to  pain  Nan  to  the  heart,  but  she  drank 
her  tea  in  silence,  and  her  resolve  remained  un- 
shaken. 

The  next  day  of  working  and  cleaning  seemed  more 
intolerable  to  her  than  ever,  partly  because  it  was 
Saturday,  and  there  was  more  than  usual  to  be  done ; 
and,  partly,  because  her  time  of  freedom  was  so  near. 
It  was  hard  work  to  silence  that  reproachful  voice, 
which  kept  telling  her  that  she  was  going  to  do  wrong. 
She  knew  she  was  ungrateful — she  knew  she  was 
wicked,  but  she  tried  to  think  that  she  did  not  care ; 
and  with  this  fight  going  on  within  her,  it  was  no 
wonder  that  she  seemed  even  more  sullen  than  be- 
fore, and  that  her  face  had  a darker  and  sadder  ex- 
pression. 

Mary  Hilton  noticed  it,  and  could  not  account  for  it. 
“ Aren’t  you  well  V7  she  asked  on  Saturday  night,  when 
she  found  Nan,  who  had  been  washing  up  things  in  the 


1 GO 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SIL  VER. 


little  back  kitclien,  standing  listlessly,  with  her  head 
resting  against  the  chimney-piece. 

“ Oh,  yes  ! ” 

“ Yon  ’re  tired.  Well,  it ’s  been  a hard  day  to-day ; 
but  to-morrow ’s  the  good  day  of  rest,  my  girl,  and  you 
shall  have  as  much  of  it  as  you  can.  You  shall  come 
to  church  along  with  me  in  the  morning,  and  you  shall 
go  to  bed  quite  early  to-morrow  night.” 

NT  an  looked  at  her  with  a grim  smile. 

Mary  knew  that  all  was  not  right. 

“ What ’s  the  matter,  child  1 ” she  went  on  : “ Ain’t 
you  happy  1 ” 

“ No.” 

“ What ’s  wrong — you  don’t  want  to  be  back  in  the 
workhouse,  do  you  and  Mary  laughed  a little. 

“No.” 

“Well,  then,  why  don’t  you  cheer  up,  and  do  your 
best  1 ” 

“I  do  ‘ do  my  best,’  but  it  ain’t  your  best,  and  I 
can’t  make  it.” 

“ Well,  Nan,  nobody  can’t  do  more  than  their  best — 
you  just  stick  to  doing  that  really  and  truly,  and  I ’ll  be 
satisfied — because  then  I know  your  best  will  soon  get 
better.” 

Nan  glanced  at  her  mistress  for  a moment.  She 
spoke  in  the  gentle,  kind,  motherly  voice,  which  she 
had  always  used  to  her,  and  Nan  felt  at  that  moment 
as  if  she  could  kneel  down  at  her  feet  and  tell  her 


TOO  CLEAN  A HOME. 


161 


everything ; but  then  she  happened  to  look  all  round 
the  little  kitchen,  which  they  had  both  been  working 
so  hard  to  make  neat  and  clean,  and  the  hatred  of  this 
cleanliness  and  order  came  back  upon  her,  and  drove 
away  all  softer  feelings,  and  so  the  opportunity  went 


% 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


$2  Itigljt  Oit  % §ribge, 

“ What  is  this  psalm  from  pitiable  places, 

G-lad  where  the  messengers  of  peace  have  trod? 
Whose  are  these  beautiful  and  holy  faces 
Lit  with  their  loving,  and  aflame  with  God  ? 


'‘Ave  unto  these,  distributeth  the  Giver 

Sorrow  and  sanctity,  and  loves  them  well, 

Grants  them  a power  and  passion  to  deliver 

Hearts  from  the  prison-house,  and  souls  from  hell.” 

— F.  W.  II.  Myers . 


Loving  Lord  J esus,  Thou  wilt  come  through  the  dark, 

When  men  are  all  sleeping,  and  no  eye  can  mark. 

Though,  ‘ clean  forgotten,  like  a dead  man  out  of  mind,’ 

This  lost  piece  of  silver,  Thou  wilt  search  for,  and  find.” 

— Poems  by  Author  of  “ John  Halifax  .” 

AJNDAY  morning  came,  and  Nan  woke  to 
the  feeling  that  this  was  her  last  day  in 
Mary  Hilton’s  home,  and  that  she  was 
going  to  a new  life.  It  was  a dark,  wet  autumn 
day, — everything  looked  gloomy  and  dingy,  and 
somehow  Nan  had  expected  to  feel  happier  than 
she  did.  She  was  going  to  get  her  wish,  and  she 
ought  to  have  been  happy.  She  thought  it  must 
be  the  wet  day,  which  made  her  spirits  low. 

In  the  morning,  she  went  to  church  with  her 


BY  NIGHT  ON  THE  BRIDGE. 


163 


mistress,  Mr  Hilton  stopping  at  home  to  bear  the 
old  people  company,  and  to  fetch  the  hot  dinner  from 
the  bakehouse  at  the  right  time.  Han  had  often  been 
to  church  with  Mrs  Hilton,  but  this  morning  every- 
thing seemed  to  strike  her  in  a way  which  it  had 
never  done  before.  First  she  heard  the  words  which 
she  still  remembered  so  well,  “ I will  arise  and  go 
to  my  Father,  and  will  say  to  him,  Father,  I have 
sinned,”  and  then  the  prayers  seemed  some  of  them  to 
be  about  her,  for  she  did  feel  that  day  that  she  was  “ a 
miserable  sinner,”  kneeling  there  beside  her  one  true 
friend,  and  being  about  to  deceive  her  so  wickedly,  and 
Han  wished  she  could  have  shut  her  ears  and  not  heard 
all  the  words  which  seemed,  one  after  another,  to  be 
meant  for  her.  As  if  to  make  things  worse,  the  clergy- 
man preached  from  the  text,  “We  love  Him,  because 
He  first  loved  us,”  and  said  a great  deal  about  gratitude 
and  ingratitude,  which  she  could  understand  quite  well 
when  she  thought  of  all  that  Mary  Hilton  had  been  to 
her,  and  how  ungrateful  she  was  going  to  be  in  return ; 
and,  altogether,  though  she  had  never  listened  so  at- 
tentively, she  never  had  been  so  glad  for  the  service  to 
come  to  an  end. 

The  afternoon  seemed  very  long,  and  Han  began  to 
get  restless  and  uneasy  as  it  drew  towards  a close,  afraid 
lest  the  downpours  of  rain  should  keep  her  mistress 
from  church  in  the  evening ; but  Mary’s  heart  was  set 
on  going  with  her  husband.  She  put  on  her  cloak  and 


164 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


bonnet  as  soon  as  the  bells  began  to  ring,  and  turning 
to  Nan  she  said,  44  Now,  I trust  father  and  mother  to 
you, — you  be  a good  girl,  and  keep  the  door  locked  till 
I come  in,  and  make  a good  fire.” 

Nan  promised  all  things,  and  then  Mary  and  her 
husband  went  through  the  front  room  to  the  door,  Nan 
going  with  them  to  shut  it  when  they  were  gone. 

4 ‘It’s  raining  hard,”  said  Mary. 

44  Yes,”  said  Nan,  holding  the  door  open  and  looking 
out  into  the  darkness,  and  then,  as  Mary  stepped  across 
the  threshold  some  sudden  impulse  came  to  the  girl,  and 
she  laid  her  hand  on  her  friend’s  arm  for  an  instant,  to 
keep  her  back,  as  though  she  knew  that  with  her,  help, 
and  hope,  and  love  would  go  away  for  ever. 

44  What  is  it  ?”  said  Mary,  44 1 ’ve  got  the  umbrella.” 
44  Nothing,”  answered  Nan;  44  good-bye,  missus.” 

44  Good-bye,  we  ’ll  soon  be  back.” 

Nan  stood  looking  after  her  for  a minute,  and  her 
heart  died  down  within  her,  and  Mary  said  to  her  hus- 
band, as  she  walked  on,  44 1 do  believe  Nan’s  fond  of 
me.  I ’m  sure  she  ’ll  be  a good  girl,  some  day.” 

44  It  won’t  be  your  fault,  anyways,  if  she  ain’t,”  said 
her  husband. 

About  a quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  old  people  were 
dozing  comfortably  by  the  kitchen  lire,  and  Nan  was 
dressed  in  Lizzie’s  gown  and  the  boots  Mrs  Hilton  had 
given  her,  and  a bonnet  which  her  mistress  had  made  and 
trimmed  for  her  herself,  and  the  shawl  which  had  been 


BY  NIGHT  ON  THE  BRIDGE. 


165 


washed  and  mended  so  that  it  looked  quite  tidy,  and 
she  was  ready  to  run  away.  Even  then  she  paused  be- 
fore she  opened  the  door,  looking  round  at  everything 
for  the  last  time, — the  cheerful  fire,  the  quiet  faces  of 
the  old  people  sleeping  by  it,  the  bright  pewter  and 
crockery  which  she  had  so  often  cleaned,  now  shining 
in  the  firelight,  the  clean  kitchen  table,  with  the  large 
Bible  lying  on  it,  where  Mr  Hilton  had  been  reading 
to  his  father  and  mother,  and  the  American  clock  with 
its  loud  ticking,  which  had  become  such  a familiar 
sound  to  her. 

“ What  ever  will  missus  say  when  she  finds  I be 
gone  h ” she  said  to  herself.  “ I declare,  I think  1 11  stay 
and  have  another  try  at  the  cleaning ; — but  then  what 
would  Amelia  say  if  she  come  through  all  the  wet  to 
meet  me  ? No  ! I must  go,  and  1 11  forget  this  all  as 
quick  as  I can.” 

She  took  no  more  time  for  thought,  but  lifted  the 
latch  softly,  left  the  door  partly  ajar,  and  stole  out  into 
the  dark  night.  It  seemed  to  be  raining  harder  than 
ever,  but  Nan  hardly  felt  or  thought  of  that,  she  was 
so  frightened  and  guilty.  All  the  old  feelings  of  fear 
came  over  her;  it  was  not  only  her  present  mistress 
whom  she  dreaded,  but  remembrances  of  Mrs  Jackson 
and  the  stolen  brooch,  and  of  Peter,  to  whom  she  had 
been  so  cruel,  came  crowding  upon  her.  She  felt  as  she 
had  done  on  that  Sunday  night  long  ago,  only  worse  if 
possible,  for  then  she  had  been  hardened  and  did  not 


166 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


much  care,  but  now  love  had  touched  her  life,  and  had 
partly  softened  her  heart,  and  it  was  impossible  not  to 
care  when  she  thought  of  Mary  Hilton. 

She  crept  through  the  street,  with  her  head  bent 
down,  afraid  of  being  noticed  or  detected,  and  always 
chose  the  least  frequented  ways,  until  she  reached  the 
bridge.  It  was  a dark  night,  and  the  light  of  the  gas- 
lamps  was  misty  and  feeble  through  the  heavy  rain. 
She  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  bridge,  looking  down 
into  the  water,  and  a thought  of  Peter — of  Peter 
drowned  through  her  fault — came  to  her.  She  turned 
away  and  walked  on  looking  for  Amelia,  but  Amelia  was 
not  there.  It  was  very  cold,  Nan’s  teeth  were  chatter- 
ing, and  her  damp  clothes  began  to  cling  about  her ; she 
drew  her  shawl  closer  round  her  again,  and  leaned  on 
the  wall  of  the  bridge  with  her  face  turned  from  the 
water,  watching  for  Amelia,  and  she  heard  the  clocks 
from  the  churches  near  the  river  strike  eight.  “ Missus 
will  soon  be  out  of  church,”  she  said  to  herself ; “ oh  ! 
what  will  she  say  ? She  ’ll  think  first  I ’ve  only  gone 
out  for  a lark,  and  I ’ll  soon  be  coming  back  for  her  to 
lecture  me,  and  then  she  ’ll  find  its  getting  later  and 
later  and  I don’t  come,  and  then  she  ’ll  know,  and  then 
she  ’ll  find  out  what  I am,  and  she  ‘11  wish  she ’d  never 
took  me  out  of  the  workhouse,  and  then  she  ’ll  say  I ’m 
a good-for-nothing,  and  she ’s  well  rid  of  me,  and 
she  ’ll  get  another  girl,  and, — Well  ! I don’t  care.  I ’ll 
have  no  more  cleaning.  I wonder  when  ’Melia’s  coming  ] 


BY  NIGHT  ON  THE  BRIDGE. 


167 


she ’s  real  late.”  She  walked  again  up  and  down  the 
dark  bridge,  that  she  might  not  feel  the  shaking  and 
trembling  of  her  limbs,  and  then  she  stood  and  gazed 
down  into  the  water  again.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  not 
help  it.  She  did  not  wish  to  look  at  it,  and  yet  she 
looked  in  spite  of  herself ; the  water  was  flowing  out 
with  an  even  swift  rush  from  under  the  arches  of  the 
bridge,  the  long  wavering  lines  of  light  from  the  street 
lamps  were  reflected  in  it,  and  the  barges  crept  up  and 
down,  dark  moving  masses,  which  she  could  hardly  dis- 
tinguish through  the  gloom.  People  passed  her  on  the 
bridge  and  wondered  why  she  stood  there,  some  even 
wondered  whether  she  was  thinking  of  jumping  into  the 
water,  but  Amelia  did  not  come,  and  at  last  a wild  ter- 
ror took  possession  of  Nan.  What  if  Amelia  should 
not  come  at  all  h What  if  she  was  left  alone  here  % 
What  would  become  of  her  without  a friend  in  the 
world,  for  she  dared  not  go  back  now  ? Mrs  Hilton 
must  be  home  from  church  before  this.  Her  wicked- 
ness was  found  out,  and  the  door  would  be  shut  against 
her  for  ever. 

She  walked  up  and  down  again  restlessly,  gazing 
wistfully  at  every  woman  she  met,  in  the  hope  that  it 
might  be  Amelia,  but  still  Amelia  did  not  come. 

Once  her  heart  seemed  as  if  it  would  stand  still  with 
terror,  for  just  as  she  was  passing  under  a gas-lamp, 
she  caught  sight  of  a face  which  she  knew ; a man 
brushed  past  her,  and  looked  into  her  face  as  he  did  so. 


168 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SIL  VER. 


It  was  Mr  Jackson;  Nan  could  hardly  keep  back  a cry 
of  alarm,  and  it  was  evident  that  her  former  master  had 
some  sort  of  remembrance  of  her,  that  her  face  was  fa- 
miliar to  him,  though  he  did  not  know  how;  he  turned 
and  looked  after  her  a moment,  but  could  not  recollect 
where  he  had  seen  her  before,  and  so  went  on. 

After  this  Nan’s  unhappiness  was  complete.  She  did 
not  dare  to  go  away  because  Amelia  had  promised  to 
meet  her  there,  and  she  had  no  hope  left  but  Amelia. 
She  waited  on  and  on  with  a sickening  heart,  till  the 
clocks  struck  ten.  “ Oh,  she  will  not  come,  she  will 
not  come  now,  what  shall  I do]”  thought  wretched  Nan, 
and  she  crouched  down  in  a corner  of  the  bridge,  trying 
to  hide  away  from  all  those  who  were  passing  by.  It  was 
so  dark,  so  cold, so  lonely,  she  wished  she  could  die.  “God 
help  me,”  she  muttered;  “ God  help  me.  I wonder  if  He 
does  really  help  people,  as  my  missus  says  He  does  ] Can 
He  see  me  here  through  all  the  dark  and  the  rain,  and 
does  He  know  what  trouble  I ’m  in  ] What  was  that  she 
said  about  His  seeking  for  the  lost  ] If  He  was  here 
— in  London — now,  I wonder  if  He’d  come  and  look 
for  me  ] Oh  ! God  help  me,  don’t  leave  me  to  die  out 
here  in  the  cold ; I Ve  been  a bad  girl,  but  do  send 
Amelia,  don’t  let  me  be  here  all  alone.”  She  clasped  her 
hands,  and  raised  her  eyes  to  the  dark,  rainy  sky  above. 
Could  her  poor  frightened  voice  ever  reach  to  God  ] 

But,  just  then,  she  heard  people  coming  towards  her, 
and  a broken  snatch  of  a song  in  tones  which  she  re- 


BY  NIGHT  ON  THE  BRIDGE. 


169 


cognised,  and  she  stumbled  to  her  feet  to  meet  Amelia, 
who  had  come  at  last. 

As  she  did  so  a hand  touched  her,  and  a voice, — 
that  voice  which  she  had  never  thought  to  hear  again, 
— said,  “ Nan  !” 

She  started  and  turned  round,  and  the  misty,  feeble 
light  of  the  gas-lamp  showed  her  the  face  of  Mary 
Hilton. 

“ Let  me  go  ! let  me  go  !”  she  cried,  bitterly.  “ I 
have  left  you.  I will  never  come  back.  Let  me  go  !” 

“ No,  Nannie,  I will  not.”  The  words  were  said 
very  tenderly,  but  it  was  quite  plain  that  the  speaker 
meant  them. 

Amelia  had  come  up  to  them,  but  when  she  saw 
whose  charge  Nan  was  in,  she  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  laughed,— “ Hulloa  ! little  one,  you  ’re  caught ; 
well,  never  mind,  better  luck  next  time  ! ” And  she 
wras  going  on,  but  Mary  said — 

“ Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Amelia,  to  be  try- 
ing to  entrap  a poor  girl  away  from  a happy  home  V} 

“ She  ain’t  happy ; that 's  just  it,”  said  Amelia, 
roughly. 

Mary's  lips  were  quivering ; Nan  could  see  that  as 
she  stole  one  guilty  look  at  her  face,  then  she  tried  to 
wrench  her  arm  away,  crying  out  piteously,  “ Amelia, 
wait,  wait ; I ’m  coming ! ” 

Amelia  stood  at  a little  distance  looking  at  them, 
half-waiting  to  see  if  Nan  was  set  free. 


170 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


Mary  dropped  the  girl’s  arm,  and  her  own  two  hands 
fell  by  her  side.  Nan  was  free,  and  was  just  setting 
off  at  a run  to  join  Amelia  when  there  was  a sound 
which  made  her  pause.  It  was  a sob  which  seemed  to 
burst  from  the  depths  of  Mary’s  heart. 

Nan  stopped.  “Missus,  was  that  about  me?”  she 
asked,  wonderingly. 

Mary  could  not  answer ; her  tears  came  thick  and 
fast.  Nan  grasped  the  edge  of  her  shawl, — “ I han’t 
stole  nothing  this  time  ’cept  these  clothes  as  you  give 
me.  I ’ve  runned  away.  I suppose  you  ’ll  be  sending 
me  to  prison  now ; it  ’s  the  best  place  for  such  as  me, 
— that  or  the  river  there.  Missus,  don’t  cry.  I ’ll  go 
anywhere  you  sends  me,  if  you  ’ll  not  cry  like  that.” 

Mary  laid  her  hand  on  the  cold  one  which  had  such 
tight  hold  of  her  shawl. 

“ Don’t  ’ee,  missus,  now  don’t  ’ee  cry  like  that.  I — 
I ain’t  worth  it,”  and  the  girl’s  voice  was  broken  and 
hoarse. 

“Are  you  coming,  Nan?”  shouted  Amelia.  The 
answer  came  half-choked  with  sobs — “ No  ; 99  and,  with 
a mocking  laugh,  Amelia  went  on  her  way. 

“ Thank  God  !”  whispered  Mary. 

But  Nan  stood  silent. 

“ Come  home,  child ; you  ’re  wet  through.  You  ’ll 
be  ill  again,  if  you  don’t  get  warmed  soon.” 

“ What  ? ” said  Nan,  not  taking  in  the  meaning  of 
the  words. 


BY  NIGHT  ON  THE  BRIDGE. 


171 


“ You  must  come  home  and  get  to  bed  as  $oon  as 
you  can.” 

“ And  when  wdll  you  send  me  to  prison  ?” 

“Not  at  all,  Nannie.” 

“ And  did  you  come  after  me  for  to  bring  me  home, 
when  I ’d  runned  away  from  you  like  that  ? ” 

Nan  was  speaking  fast  and  low. 

“ Yes  ; I got  a fear  of  the  truth  over  me  when  I 
came  in  from  church  and  found  you  wasn’t  there,  and 
I ’ve  been  looking  for  you  ever  since.” 

They  were  walking  towards  Mary’s  home  now. 
Suddenly  Nan  stopped,  and  looking  up  earnestly  into 
her  mistress’s  face,  she  said,  “ Missus,  what  made  you 
do  it  % ” 

“ Because  I loved  you.” 

“ Loved  a bad  girl  like  me,  who ’s  been  bad  all  the 
time  she ’s  been  with  you,  and  who  runned  away  to 
Amelia  ! ” 

“ Yes,  Nan.” 

“ Then  I wish  I ’d  been  dead  before  I done  it.” 

They  walked  on  again  in  silence,  Nan’s  teeth 
chattering  with  cold  and  damp  ; but  just  as  they  were 
getting  near  the  house,  she  asked,  “ Will  master  be 
very  angry  ? ” 

“ Perhaps  he  will,  Nan ; you  must  bear  it.” 

“ Ay;  I know  I deserve  it,”  she  hesitated.  “ Missus,” 
she  half- whispered,  “do  you  mind  those  words  you 
said  once  about  Him  seeking  them  as  was  lost  ] ” 


172 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“ ‘ The  Son  of  Man  is  come  to  seek  and  to  save  that 
which  was  lost.’  Was  that  it,  Nan  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; I think  I seem  to  know  a bit  what  that 
means  now.  He  do  care  for  us ; I ’d  like  to  love 
Him.” 

There  was  no  scolding  from  Mr  Hilton  that  night,  for 
Nan  turned  faint  and  sick  on  entering  the  warm  room 
after  the  cold  to  which  she  had  been  exposed,  and  had 
to  be  helped  up  to  bed  at  once ; but  before  she  slept 
she  had  told  Mary  Hilton  the  story  of  her  past  life  with 
its  sins  and  its  troubles, — there  were  no  more  secrets 
between  them, — and  Mary  had  knelt  by  her  young 
servant’s  bed,  and  asked  their  Father  in  heaven  to 
forgive  the  past,  and  to  give  strength  and  help  for  the 
life  of  the  future. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Jkst  Steps  in  Cntilj  mtir  fioirestg. 


* So,  in  repentance,  we  must  turn 
From  what  is  false  and  wrong, 

And  with  the  light  God’s  Spirit  gives. 

Go  steadfastly  along. 

‘ Onward  and  onward,  in  His  name 
Who  is  our  life  and  strength  ; 

Onward  and  onward,  till  we  reach 
Our  Father’s  house  at  length.” 

— Thoughts  in  Verse. 

HIS  was  the  real  turning-point  in  Nan’s 
life.  It  was  not  that  that  life  had  be- 
come any  easier  than  it  had  been  before; 
on  the  contrary,  it  was  far  more  difficult. 
It  is  always  far  more  difficult  to  do  what  is  right 
than  what  is  wrong  ; but  she  began  from  that 
night  when  she  “ had  been  lost  and  was  found, ” 
to  wish  to  do  right  for  right’s  sake  ; to  wish  to 
keep  God’s  laws  because  she  loved  Him  who  made 
them,  Him  who  had  looked  upon  her  in  her 
misery,  had  heard  her  prayer,  and  had  given  her 
such  a friend  to  help  her.  That  Father  in  heaven, 
and  that  Saviour  who  had  lived  and  died  on  earth, 


174 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


were  no  longer  unreal  to  her.  She  believed  that 
they  were  real,  because  her  cry  had  been  heard,  and 
she  had  been  saved  in  the  hour  of  danger ; and  feel- 
ing that  she  was  loved,  and  seeing  that  love  reflected 
in  the  true  earthly  friend  whom  God  had  given  her, 
she  opened  her  heart  to  it,  and  tried  to  show  she  was 
thankful  for  it  in  her  every-day  life. 

At  first,  Mary  Hilton  was  fearful  as  to  whether  it 
was  wise  to  keep  the  girl  with  her  any  longer ; she  had 
an  uncomfortable  fear  that  Amelia  might  get  hold  of 
her  again,  but  then  she  thought  sadly  of  the  very  small 
hope  there  was  of  any  one  else  taking  her,  and  so,  with 
her  husband’s  consent,  she  determined  to  give  her  another 
chance.  Both  she  and  Mr  Hilton  had  spoken  very 
gravely  to  Han  on  the  day  after  she  had  run  away, 
about  the  sin  of  having  broken  the  trust  which  she  had 
been  given  to  keep,  and  having  gone  out  when  she  had 
been  told  to  stay  at  home,  and  Mr  Hilton  had  added  a 
good  deal  more  about  Han’s  general  conduct,  winding 
up  with,  “ One  would  think,  Han,  you  had  no  feeling  for 
any  one  that  had  been  kind  to  you,  when  you  behave  in 
such  a way.” 

Then  the  tears  rose  to  her  eyes,  and,  twisting  her 
apron  round  on  her  fingers,  she  said,  “ Don’t  say  that, 
don’t.  I love  missus, — I’d  die  for  missus.” 

“ Well,  she  don’t  want  you  to  die  for  her,”  said  Ed- 
ward Hilton,  looking  well  pleased;  “ she  wants  you  to 
live  and  be  a good,  stirring,  cleanly  lass,  for  her,  and 


FIRST  STEPS  IN  TRUTH  AND  HONESTY.  175 


do  her  credit  for  taking  you  out  of  the  workhouse.” 
And  after  that  he  never  said  another  word  against  Nan. 

It  is  an  easy  thing  to  say  that  at  some  time  or  other 
there  has  come  a great  turning-point  into  a life,  and 
that  a person  has  steadily  tried  to  do  what  is  right,  in- 
stead of  what  is  wrong,  from  that  time  forth  ; but  many 
will  object,  “This  is  all  very  well  in  a story-book,  but 
in  real  life  it  is  a very  different  matter;  doing  what  is 
right,  instead  of  doing  what  is  wrong,  is  hard  up-hill 
work,  and  the  slowly-fought  battle  of  many  years.” 
Perfectly  true  ; and  that  is  exactly  what  Nan  found  it ; 
perhaps  it  was  even  slower  and  harder  work  to  her  than 
to  most  people,  for  her  faults  were  very  firmly  rooted 
ones,  and  they  conquered  her  many  a time.  But  with 
that  night  on  the  bridge  had  come  to  her  the  desire  to 
live  her  life,  whatever  it  was,  for  God,  and  she  never 
lost  that  desire  again  entirely. 

The  proofs  of  this  were  her  efforts  to  do  her  household 
work  well,  efforts  which  were  very  feeble  and  wreak 
at  first,  but  became  by  degrees  stronger  and  more 
earnest.  She  began  to  be  cleaner  and  tidier,  and  fought 
against  her  laziness,  and  tried  not  to  speak  sullenly,  but 
to  keep  a cheerful  temper,  first  for  her  mistress’s  sake ; 
and  then,  by  degrees,  that  love  led  to  the  Higher  Love, 
and  she  learned  that  a life  of  scrubbing  and  cleaning 
and  mending  might  be  lived  for  the  love  of  God  quite 
as  much  as  a king’s  or  a clergyman’s. 

One  day  Mrs  Hilton’s  heart  was  made  very  glad. 


176 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


She  had  gone  into  the  front  room  which  Nan  was 
scrubbing,  and  she  had  said,  “ I don’t  wish  to  do  any- 
thing that  could  hurt  you,  Nan,  but  I ’ve  a feeling  that 
I don’t  like  to  keep  anything  that  isn’t  honestly  mine ; 
and  you  know  this  brooch  you  gave  me  isn’t  yours  nor 
mine,  but  Mrs  J ackson’s ; so  I thought  I ’d  give  it  back 
to  you,  my  dear,  to  do  what  you  think  best  with  it.” 
Nan  took  the  brooch  in  great  surprise,  and  laid  it 
away;  she  was  not  accustomed  to  that  sort  of  honesty, 
and  she  thought  about  it  all  day.  In  the  evening,  she 
came  to  her  mistress,  “I  have  got  sevenpence-halfpenny 
of  my  own,”  she  said,  hurriedly,  “ I ’d  like  to  give  back 
the  money  and  the  brooch  to  Mrs  Jackson  and  tell  her 
I took  it,  not  Peter, — poor  Peter,”  and  a miserable  look 
came  over  her  face.  “ I ’ve  throwed  away  the  green 
scarf.” 

“ Supposing  I was  to  advance  you  money  to  buy  a 
new  one,  and  stop  it  bit  by  bit  out  of  your  wages  ? ” 
“Oh!  I’d  like  that  ; and  then,  missus,  would  you 
put  them  all  up  in  a parcel,  and  write  a letter  about 
them  and  send  it  to  her  ? ” 

Mrs  Hilton  looked  up  at  her  questioningly. 

“ And,  please,  ma’am,  if  you  wouldn’t  mind,  not  to 
put  where  we  live,  please,  because  then  she  couldn’t 
never  send  the  policeman  after  me.” 

“ She  won’t  do  that  when  you  restore  the  things,  child, 
and  I think  it  would  be  best,  if  you  took  them  back 
yourself.  I’d  go  with  you  if  you  liked,  some  evening.” 


FIRST  STEPS  IN  TRUTH  AND  HONESTY.  177 


But  Nan  was  too  fearful  to  consent  to  this  for  some 
weeks.  At  last,  love  “ cast  out  fear,”  and  she  begged 
Mrs  Hilton  to  take  her,  for  she  said  she  wanted  to  be 
honest  in  her  way. 

It  was  a cold,  frosty  evening  towards  Christmas- 
time, when  the  two  stood  together  at  the  door  of  Mr 
Jackson’s  shop.  Nan  remembered  how  she  had  first 
stood  there,  a little  shivering  girl  from  the  workhouse ; 
how,  afterwards,  she  had  trembled  as  she  stood  there 
the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  she  had  seen  Joey,  and 
how  Peter  had  let  her  in  and  saved  her  from  a scolding. 
She  could  not  understand  why  it  was  that  she  had  never 
felt  really  grateful  to  Peter  before,  for  now  one  kind 
deed  after  another  sprang  up  to  her  remembrance,  and 
the  bitterest  thought  of  her  life  was,  that  she  had  so 
unjustly  accused  him,  and  had  perhaps  caused  his 
death.  The  shop  was  open,  there  was  no  need  for 
ringing  at  the  bell,  and  with  a heart  which  beat 
wildly  with  terror,  Nan  followed  Mrs  Hilton  up  to  the 
counter. 

Mr  Jackson  was  there,  looking  much  the  same  as  he 
had  ever  done. 

“ You  don’t  remember  this  girl,  Mr  Jackson,  per- 
haps 1 her  name  is  Nan  Downing,”  said  Mrs  Hilton. 

Mr  Jackson’s  answer  was  loud  and  angry,  “ Nan 
Downing  ] I remember  her  well  enough,  she  was  a hor- 
rid little  thief.  Don’t  you  be  looking  for  a character 
here,  for  you’ll  get  none.  What’s  more,  I tell  you, 

M 


178 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER . 


now  I ’ve  caught  you,  I ’ll  have  the  law  on  you, — 
where’s  my  missus’s  brooch?  Wife,  I say,”  and  he 
called  out  loudly,  “ come  here.”  Mrs  Jackson  appeared 
in  the  doorway  at  this  moment,  already  attracted  by 
the  sound  of  her  husband’s  fierce  tones. 

“ Who ’s  this,  do  you  suppose,  come  here  with  her 
impudence  to  look  for  a character  ? Why,  Nan  Downing 
that  stole  your  brooch  and  scarf  ! If  you  ’ll  just  keep 
her  I ’ll  send  for  the  policeman  and  clap  her  into 
prison  in  no  time.” 

“Wait  a moment,”  said  Mrs  Hilton,  seeing  Nan 
growing  white  with  fright ; “ wait  till  you  hear  what 
she ’s  come  for.” 

Then  she  laid  the  brooch  and  a new  green  scarf  upon 
the  counter,  and  Nan  spoke  very  low  and  hastily,  “ I 
took  them,  and  I took  the  apples,  and  I ’m  very  sorry 
now  I did.” 

“ Well,  I ’m  sure,”  said  Mrs  Jackson. 

“ Well,  I’m  blessed,”  said  Mr  Jackson. 

“ And  that ’s  not  all,”  she  said,  speaking  faster  and 
faster,  and  with  difficulty  keeping  back  her  tears, 
“here’s  sevenpence-halfpenny  which  I took,  and  said 
it  was  Peter.” 

“ You  horrid  little  liar,”  screamed  Mrs  Jackson. 

“ You  are  the  most  hardened  young  sinner  I ever  saw,” 
said  her  husband ; “ and  that  boy,  I believe,  drowned 
hisself  because  we  sent  him  away  for  that  sevenpence- 
halfpenny,— serve  you  right  if  he  haunts  you  to  your 


FIRST  STEPS  IN  TRUTH  AND  HONESTY, \ 179 


dying  day.  And  what  else  did  you  steal  while  you 
were  about  it  % ” 

“Nothing,”  said  Nan,  sullenly,  “I’ve  told  you  all.” 
The  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  shop  was  opened  just 
then,  and  a little  child  of  three  years  old  toddled  in. 

“ The  baby, — the  baby,”  said  Nan,  and  sprang  to 
meet  it  with  a glad  cry. 

“ Don’t  touch  her,  you  young  thief,”  said  Mrs  Jack- 
son,  “ I ’m  right  thankful  you  didn’t  stay  here  to  teach 
her  your  wicked  ways.”  Nan’s  outstretched  arms 
dropped  suddenly,  and  she  turned  away,  without  a 
word,  while  the  child  hid  her  face  against  her  mother 
and  whimpered. 

“ Good  evening,”  said  Mrs  Hilton,  and  taking  Nan 
by  the  arm  she  led  her  out  of  the  shop.  She  listened 
to  the  girl’s  sobs  for  some  time,  then  she  said,  sooth- 
ingly, “ You  have  done  your  utmost,  my  dear.  God 
knows  you  have,  and  I feel  I can  trust  you  now.” 

“ It ’s  bitter  hard  work,”  sobbed  Nan,  “ this  trying  to 
be  better.” 

Bitter  some  of  it  was  indeed,  but  not  all,  and  Mary 
Hilton  knew  that  it  would  be  good  for  Nan  to  feel  that 
she  had  the  power  of  being  helpful  and  loving.  She 
had  grieved  for  the  girl  when  she  had  seen  her  love  for 
the  baby  whom  she  had  held  in  her  arms  so  harshly 
repulsed,  and  a few  days  afterwards  she  said  to  her,  “I 
want  you  to  help  me  this  afternoon.  I promised  Mrs 
Smith  I ’d  look  in  for  a bit  and  see  after  her,  and  now 


180 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


here ’s  all  this  batch  of  work  come  in  to  be  done  at 
once,  and  I shan’t  be  able  to  keep  my  word.  Do  you 
think  you ’d  go  for  me  h ” Nan  looked  at  her  mistress, 
to  see  if  she  really  meant  her  words. 

“ What  could  I do,  missus  h ” she  asked,  doubtfully. 

“ Why,  if  you ’d  just  go  and  hold  the  baby  a bit,  and 
let  that  eldest  girl  clean  up  the  room,  or  you  clean  up 
while  she  holds  the  baby,  or  see  if  Mrs  Smith  wants 
anything;  she  has  no  one  nursing  her  but  that  girl,  and 
she ’s  quite  a child.” 

“ But  she ’d  not  like  me,  mayhap,”  Nan  objected. 

“ I ’m  sure  that  she ’d  like  any  one  that  would  lend  a 
helping  hand.  Just  you  go  and  see,  will  you  ? Say  I 
sent  you  with  my  love,  and  I hope  she’s  pretty  com- 
fortable, and  could  you  do  anything  to  help  her,  as  I ’m 
very  busy  with  some  new  work  h ” 

Nan  could  not  refuse.  She  did  not  go  sullenly  now 
as  she  would  have  done  of  old,  but  she  was  very  shy, 
and  almost  wished  when  she  stood  beside  Mrs  Smith’s 
bed  that  the  woman  would  say  she  did  not  want  any- 
thing. However  she  was  only  too  thankful  to  see  her; 
there  were  six  children  tumbling  about  on  the  floor  ; the 
eldest,  a girl  of  about  ten,  was  trying  in  vain  to  hush 
the  screams  of  a tiny  baby  who  had  screamed  itself 
quite  red  and  nearly  purple  in  the  face,  and  two  or 
three,  who  seemed  almost  babies  also,  were  fighting  over 
an  old  leaden  spoon,  which  had  lately  been  dipped  in 
the  sugar-bowl. 


FIRST  STEPS  IN  TRUTH  AND  HONESTY, \ 181 


“ It ’s  that  baby,”  said  the  mother  faintly,  for  she 
was  nearly  worn-out  with  the  noise,  if  anything 
would  quiet  it.” 

“ Let  me  try,”  said  Nan,  and  she  held  ont  her  arms 
for  it.  She  never  had  had  such  a young  baby  in  her 
arms  before,  but  the  old  feeling  of  love  to  the  little 
tender  things  seemed  to  wake  in  her  heart  again  as  she 
felt  the  little  head  lying  helplessly  against  her  breast ; 
and  she  knew  the  way  tiny  babies  like  to  be  cuddled 
and  kept  warm,  so  she  drew  it  close  up  to  her,  and 
wrapped  the  covering  closely  round  it,  till  only  a little 
breathing  place  was  left,  where  a corner  of  the  red  face 
peeped  out,  and  then  she  swayed  herself  backward  and 
forward  with  the  steady,  even  step,  which  so  seldom 
fails  to  soothe  even  the  most  restless.  Baby,  who  only 
wanted  a little  rocking  and  comforting,  soon  went  fast 
asleep,  and  Nan  was  proud  and  pleased  as  the  mother 
said,  “Well,  I’d  no  idea  you’d  be  so  handy  with  a 
baby ; why,  that ’s  the  first  right  good  sleep  it ’s  been 
in  to-day,  and  I ’m  nigh  worn-out  with  it.  Here,  give 
it  to  me  now,  it’ll  sleep  on  sound  enough.” 

“ Is  there  anything  more  I can  do  t ” Nan  asked, 
feeling  quite  cheerful. 

“ Well,  now,  if  you  could  just  heat  me  a little  of  that 
broth,  our  parson’s  wife,  she  sent  me  some  this  morning, 
but  it  bain’t  of  no  use  unless  it ’s  heated,  and  I ’m  so 
feared  to  let  Mary  Anne  go  near  the  fire,  she ’s  such  a 
bad  one  for  meddling  with  the  saucepans.” 


182 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER . 


“ The  fire ’s  bad,”  said  Nan,  and  she  went  down  on 
her  knees,  and  poked  it  up,  and  kindled  it  with  some 
fresh  sticks,  and  then  set  the  saucepan  on  with  the 
broth.  While  it  was  heating,  she  got  a piece  of  bread 
and  toasted  it,  as  she  had  seen  Mrs  Hilton  do  for  the 
old  folks,  and  when  it  was  all  ready  she  brought  it  to 
Mrs  Smith,  who  took  it  eagerly,  arid  said  she  felt  much 
the  better  for  it.  After  that,  Nan  helped  the  girl  to 
tidy  up  the  room  a little,  and  minde<r;  the  other  chil- 
dren while  their  sister  went  for  a loaf.  And  when  two 
hours  were  over,  she  was  only  surprised  that  they  had 
gone  so  fast. 

“ I ’m  sure  I ’m  very  much  obliged  to  you/’  said  the 
woman,  gratefully,  “ if  you  hadn’t  a come  in  I ’d  have 
had  no  one  to  do  a hand’s  turn  for  me  till  my  husband 
came  back  from  work,  and,  after  all,  a man  ain’t  much 
hand  at  a baby.” 

“I  ;11  come  again,”  said  Nan,  and  she  went  home 
feeling  really  happy. 

“ Well,  was  there  nothing  for  you  to  do  (l  ” asked 
Mrs  Hilton,  smiling  as  she  raised  her  head  from  her 
work. 

“ Yes,  a-plenty ; I nursed  the  baby  a bit,  and  I 
cooked  up  the  broth  and  made  the  fire,  and  lots  of 
things.  I ’d  like  to  have  done  a bit  of  cooking  for  her, 
but  there  didn’t  seem  nothing  to  do  but  the  broth.” 

It  was  coming  out  by  degrees  that  Nan’s  taste  lay  in 
the  direction  of  cooking.  Mrs  Hilton  began  to  find 


FIRST  STEPS  IN  TRUTH  AND  HONESTY.  183 


that  that  part  of  her  work  was  better  done  than  any 
other,  and  that  liking  it,  Nan  tried  to  do  her  best,  and 
was  ready  to  learn  all  that  she  could  about  it. 

“ Some  day  I must  try  to  get  you  a cook’s  place, 
or  kitchenmaid’s,”  said  Mrs  Hilton. 

“ I don’t  want  to  go  away  from  you  no  more,  missus.” 
“ Nor  I to  part  with  you,  Nan ; but  it  won’t  be  fair 
for  me  to  keep  you  much  longer,  you  ’re  getting  quite 
grown  up  now,  and  we  can’t  afford  to  give  you  more 
wages,  so  you  must  go  where  you  can  get  them,  and 
where  you  ’ll  learn  more  that  will  fit  you  to  be  a regular 
servant.” 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


§£ss«’s  J’rwnb. 


“ There ’s  no  dearth  of  kindness 
In  this  world  of  ours, 

Only  in  our  blindness 
We  gather  thorns  for  flowers. 

Oh,  cherish  God’s  best  giving, 

Falling  from  above ! 

Life  were  not  worth  living 
Were  it  not  for  love.” 

— Gerald  Massey. 

“It  was  a cruel  injury. 

An  unforgiven  pain. 

But  there  it  lieth  tranquilly, — 

It  will  not  stir  again.” 

— Twilight  Hours. 

ND  so  about  six  months  afterwards,  when 
she  felt  that  it  was  really  for  Nan’s  good 
to  leave  her,  Mrs  Hilton  found  a new 
situation  for  her.  It  was  hard  work  to  the  girl 
to  part  with  her  friend,  and  with  tears  she  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  remain  on  her  small  wages,  but 
Mary  Hilton  felt  that  she  had  taught  her  all  she 
could,  and  that  now  Nan  was  in  earnest  about 
trying  to  do  what  was  right,  it  would  not  do  for 
her  to  depend  too  much  on  her  assistance  and 
advice ; it  was  time  that  she  should  go  out  into 


BESSIE’S  FRIEND. 


185 


the  world,  and  try  the  worth  and  strength  of  her  new 
principles. 

The  place  she  had  found  for  her  was  that  of  kitchen- 
maid  in  a gentleman’s  family ; Mrs  Hilton  had  known 
the  cook,  and  found  she  was  willing  to  give  the  girl  a 
trial  for  her  sake,  and  to  mention  the  subject  to  her 
mistress,  and  Nan  was  soon  engaged. 

Mrs  Hiltons  parting  advice  to  her  was  very  simple 
and  easy  to  be  remembered,  it  was  “ to  ask  God  every 
day  to  help  her  to  do  what  she  had  got  to  do  for  His 
sake,  and  to  please  Him,  and  never  to  lose  a chance  of 
doing  a kindness  for  another  when  she  could.”  Nan 
could  not  answer  her  for  crying,  but  she  did  not  forget 
the  words,  and  then  her  friend  left  her  to  begin  the  new 
life,  only  making  her  promise  to  come  to  her  house 
whenever  she  had  an  “ outing.”  There  was  not  much 
fear  now  that  Nan  would  break  this  promise. 

Strange  as  the  difference  in  Mary  Hilton’s  home  had 
been,  this  life  seemed  even  stranger  to  Nan.  She  had 
never  been  in  a gentleman’s  family  before,  and  knew 
nothing  of  its  ways,  and  her  first  visits  to  Mrs  Hilton 
were  very  sad  ones,  for  they  were  spent  in  telling  of 
her  many  failures  and  troubles,  and  often,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  her  friend’s  firm  and  steady  advice, 
Nan’s  heart  would  have  failed,  and  she  would  have 
thrown  up  her  place,  from  despair  of  ever  doing  any 
better;  but  Mary  would  remind  her  that  she  could 
not  expect  to  be.  perfect  in  a day, — that  all  knowledge 


186 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SIL  VER. 


came  slowly,  and  that  until  she  had  given  the  new  life 
a fair  trial,  she  could  not  possibly  tell  whether  she 
would  like  it  or  not.  Another  of  Nan’s  trials  came 
from  her  own  sullen  temper.  She  found  it  harder  to 
do  battle  with  this,  than  with  anything  else,  it  was  so 
much  easier  to  her  to  give  an  ill-tempered  glum  answer, 
when  she  was  told  to  do  anything  or  was  asked  a ques- 
tion, than  to  speak  cheerfully,  that  she  had  great  diffi- 
culty in  breaking  herself  off  the  habit  of  doing  so, 
by  remembering  that  in  words,  and  in  work,  quite  as 
much  as  in  everything  else,  “God  loveth  a cheerful 
giver.” 

But  we  must  not  linger  over  Nan’s  every-day  life  in 
her  new  home,  for  our  story  of  her  is  drawing  to  a 
close,  and  only  one  or  two  more  scenes  remain  to  be 
told. 

The  under-housemaid  was  taken  ill ; no  one  knew 
what  was  the  matter  with  her  at  first,  but  after  a day 
or  two,  the  truth  became  only  too  clear,  and  Nan  heard 
it  for  the  first  time  when  the  matter  was  being  talked 
over  in  the  kitchen. 

“ Do  you  know  what  the  doctor  says  he  thinks  it  is, 
Jane?”  said  the  cook,  solemnly,  to  the  upper  housemaid. 

“ A fever  of  some  sort,  I suppose,”  replied  Jane,  with 
a shudder. 

“ Worse,”  said  cook. 

“Not J” — and  Jane  paused,  as  if  afraid  to  put 

her  fear  into  words. 


BESSIE'S  FRIEND. 


187 


“ Yes  ! ” and  tlie  cook  nodded  her  head  gravely. 

“ Small-pox.” 

“ He  thinks  it  11  turn  out  to-morrow  to  be  that.” 

“ Oh,  shocking  ! and  I ;ve  been  sleeping  in  the  room 
with  her  ! What  ever  shall  I do  to  get  my  things  out  as 
quick  as  possible  ? 1 11  not  enter  the  room  again,  1 11 

be  bound.” 

“ No  more  will  I.” 

“ She  11  have  to  be  moved,  I suppose  doctor  have 
told  mistress  ? ” 

“ Yes,  but  she  can’t  be  moved  yet  a bit.” 

At  that  moment,  Mrs  Langley,  their  mistress,  came 
into  the  kitchen.  “ The  doctor’s  fears  about  Bessie  are 
grave,”  she  said ; “ he  cannot  be  certain  for  a day  or 
two,  but  he  thinks  she  has  got  small-pox  now.  I want 
to  know  what  we  are  to  do  about  her.  I must  not  go 
into  her  room,  because  of  my  little  children,  but  the 
poor  girl  is  too  ill  to  be  left  alone.” 

“ Please,  ma’am,  I ’m  very  sorry,  ma’am,  but  I really 
wouldn’t  like  to  go  into  her  room  again;  it  would  be 
risking  my  life,  I consider,”  said  Jane,  briskly. 

“And  so  do  I,”  chimed  in  the  cook,  though  more 
doubtfully,  for  it  did  seem  a cruel  and  inhuman  thing 
to  leave  the  girl  alone  when  she  so  much  needed 
care. 

“ What  is  to  be  done  ] It ’s  too  late  to-night  to  get 
a regular  nurse ; ” and  the  mistress  of  the  house  looked 
sad  and  perplexed. 


188 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“ Please,  ma’am,”  said  a voice  beside  her,  “ I ’m  not 
a bit  afraid,  I ’ll  go  ; I ’ll  nurse  Bessie.” 

It  was  Nan  who  spoke,  and  her  face  was  eager  and 
earnest. 

“ Have  you  had  the  small-pox,  Nancy  ? ” 

“No,  ma’am,  but  I’m  not  afraid,  and  I’d  like  to 
nurse  her,  she  mustn’t  be  all  alone.” 

There  was  no  help  for  it,  and  Nan  took  her  place  by 
the  sick-bed  that  same  night.  The  doctor’s  fears  were 
confirmed,  it  was  small-pox,  and  for  many  days  the 
girl  was  too  ill  to  be  removed.  Having  once  begun, 
Nan  begged  to  be  allowed  to  nurse  her  all  through,  and 
her  patient  care  showed  that  she  would  perform  the 
task  well ; so  she  stayed,  and  the  nursing  was  good  for 
her  as  well  as  for  Bessie,  for  it  called  out  all  her 
tenderness  and  gentleness,  and  softened  her  heart. 
Bessie  was  hardly  conscious  of  who  was  attending  to 
her,  but  once  or  twice  she  said,  “Thank  you,  you’re 
very  kind  to  me.  Oh  ! if  only  he  knew  about  me.” 
Nan  asked  her  who  she  meant,  but  she  never  was  able 
to  give  any  answer.  At  last,  the  doctor  said  that  he 
thought  it  would  be  wisest  to  move  her  to  an  hospital, 
and  that  with  extreme  care  it  could  probably  be  done 
without  risk,  so  that  Nan’s  task  came  to  an  end ; but 
before  she  was  taken  away,  Bessie  tried  to  make  a part- 
ing request  of  her.  “ If  you ’d  go,”  she  said,  making 
an  effort  to  collect  the  senses  which  her  illness  had  con- 
fused— “ If  you ’d  go  to  the  big  church,  in  the  middle  of 


BESSIE'S  FRIEND. 


189 


the  next  parish, — you  know  it, — where  you  go  some- 
times, and  just  by  the  first  of  the  iron  gates,  about  five 
minutes  before  evening  service  next  Sunday,  you  ’ll  see 
a young  man  standing;  well,  that’s  him,  and  if  you’ll 
just  give  him  my  love,  and  tell  him  why  I haven’t 
come,  and  tell  him  I’m  better,  and  doctor  says  I’m 
getting  on,  and  he  mustn’t  fret.” 

“ But  how  shall  I know  him?  ” asked  Nan. 

“ Oh,  you  ’ll  know  him,  he ’s  tall  and  he ’s  light.” 

“ But  what ’s  his  name  ? ” 

Bessie  tried  to  say  it,  but  all  Nan  could  catch  was 
“ Bird.” 

“ Very  well,”  she  answered,  “it’s  my  turn  to  go  out 
next  Sunday  night,  I ’ll  try  what  I can  do.” 

Bessie  was  taken  to  the  hospital  comforted  by  the 
promise,  and  Nan  faithfully  kept  it.  She  was  ready 
a few  minutes  sooner  than  usual,  and  went  to  the 
church  gate  where  Bessie’s  friend  was  to  be  waiting. 

There  was  only  one  man  standing  there  as  she  came 
up,  and  she  felt  sure  that  must  be  the  one  she  was 
looking  for.  His  back  was  towards  her,  and  he  was 
anxiously  watching  for  some  one  else. 

“ I ’ve  come  from  Bessie  Adams,”  said  Nan,  timidly. 

The  young  man  turned  round  instantly, — “ Tell  me 
what  it  is ; why  hasn’t  she  been  here  these  two  Sun- 
days?” 

There  was  something  in  the  voice  which  made  Nan’s 
heart  throb  wildly,  but  she  did  not  look  at  him  as  she 


190 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


went  on.  “ Bessie  ’s  been  very  bad  with  small-pox,  but 
the  doctor  thinks  she  ’ll  get  over  it  very  soon  now,  and 
she  sent  her  love,  and  you  ’re  not  to  fret,  and  that ’s 
why  she  couldn’t  come.” 

The  news  made  Bessie’s  friend  very  unhappy,  and  he 
poured  out  an  eager  torrent  of  questions. 

Nan  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face  with  one  swift  look  in 
the  midst  of  them,  and  then  she  gasped  for  breath. 

“Are  you” her  lips  quivered,  and  the  words  came 

out  with  difficulty.  “ Are  you  Mr  Bird? ” 

“No;”  said  the  young  man,  looking  at  her  with 
surprise.  “ My  name  is  Burke.” 

“ Then  it  is  ! then  it  is  ! ” and  JNan’s  face  became 
very  white,  as  she  lifted  her  eyes  wistfully  to  his  face. 

“ How  do  I know  you  ? ” he  questioned.  “ I seem  to 
have  heard  your  voice  or  to  have  seen  you  somewhere.” 
Then  Nan’s  head  sunk  on  her  breast.  She  dared  not 
lift  her  eyes  to  his  any  longer;  and  her  voice  was 
broken  and  hoarse  as  she  answered,  “ 0 Peter ! I ’m 
the  girl  who  told  the  lie  about  you,  who  got  you  sent 
away  from  Jackson’s,  all  into  the  cold,  and  they  said — 

they  said” her  voice  broke  down  in  sobs  ; “they 

said  you  were  drowned,  and  that  I done  it  by  my 
wicked  words.” 

“ Nan  Downing  ! of  course  ; what  a stupid  I was  ! ” 
But  Peter  drew  back  a step  or  two  when  he  remembered 
who  it  was,  for  he  could  not  forget  how  wickedly  she 
had  wronged  him. 


BESSIE’S  FRIEND. 


191 


“ I ’m  fellow-servant  to  Bessie  now/7  said  Nan, 
humbly ; “ and  I ’m  trying  hard  to  get  on  right,  and  I 
took  back  the  money  to  Jackson’s,  and  I told  them  it 
was  a lie  about  you.  And  oh  ! I do  thank  God  it  wasn’t 
you  was  drowned.” 

“ It  was  hard  for  you  to  take  that  money  back  and 
to  say  that ; I ’m  much  obliged  to  you,”  but  Peter  spoke 
coldly,  and  tried  to  move  on. 

“ Won’t  you  forgive  me  now  ? ” Nan  said,  clasping 
her  hands  together  and  following  him  for  a step  or 
two. 

“ I forgave  you  long  ago  ; it  all  turned  out  best  for 
me,”  Peter  answered,  with  something  of  the  old,  merry 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  Then  he  added,  “ And  you’re 
fellow-servant  with  my  Bessie ; were  they  good  to  her 
when  she  was  so  bad  h ” 

“ Yes said  Nan,  very  low. 

“ Who  nursed  her  ] Small-pox  is  such  a dangerous 
thing.” 

“ I did,”  answered  Nan,  half-thinking  that  he  would 
be  angry  to  hear  it. 

“ You  did  ! Did  you  know  it  was  catching  1 How 
did  you  come  to  do  it  ] ” 

“ There  was  no  one  else,  and  I wanted  to  do  it.” 

Then  the  tears  came  into  honest  Peter’s  eyes,  and  he 
turned  round  with  his  hand  stretched  out  to  Nan. 
“ It ’s  you  must  forgive  me,”  he  said.  “ Here  am  I, 
nursing  up  an  old  grudge  when  you ’ve  been  saving  my 


192 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


Bessie’s  life  for  me,  and  risking  your  own  to  do  it.  It 
was  good  and  brave  of  you,  Nan,  and  God  bless  you 
for  it.” 

“ Don’t  ! don’t ! ” said  Nan  ; “ I didn’t  know  I was 
doing  anything  for  you.  I did  it  because  some  one 
was  once  kind  to  me,  and  looked  after  me  when  I was 
sick,  and  I thought  I ’d  like  to  do  it  for  somebody,  and 
there  was  nobody  else  to  do  it.” 

“ And  you  don’t  think  you  ’ve  got  it  V9 
“ No  ; I’m  right  well.  I don’t  think  I have.  I ’ve 
had  all  fresh  clothes  given  me,  and  I ’ve  been  fumigated, 
and  it ’s  five  days  since  I saw  Bessie ; and  the  doctor 
don’t  think  I can  do  any  harm  now.” 

“ I ’m  not  afraid,”  said  Peter.  (i  I shouldn’t  never 
have  known  you,  Nan ; you ’ve  grown  such  a woman, 
and  you  look  quite  different.  You  be  happier  now,  I’ll 
be  bound.” 

“ That  I am.” 

“ How ’s  Joey  ? ” 

Peter  was  sorry  he  had  asked  that  question  when 
he  saw  the  sad  look  on  the  sister’s  face  as  she  answered, 
“ I don’t  know  ; I ’ve  never  seen  him  since.  When  I 
went  again,  the  house  was  to  let,  and  they ’d  all  gone 
into  the  country.” 

Peter  looked  thoughtful.  “ I ’ve  friends  in  all  sorts 
of  places,”  he  said ; “ perhaps  some  day  I might  find 
out  about  him.  Where  did  you  say  your  uncle  lived 
when  you  last  knew,  and  wdiat  was  his  trade  ? ” 


BESSIE'S  FRIEND. 


193 


Nan  told  him  exactly,  with  eager  gladness. 

“ Well,  I can’t  be  certain,  but  I ’ll  try.  Now,  do  you 
want  to  know  how  I Ve  got  on  ? Well,  that  night,  I 
thought  things  were  in  a bad  way  with  me,  and  I was 
wrandering  along,  not  knowing  where  I was  going  to, 
when  I met  my  night-school  teacher,  and  he  stopped  to 
speak  to  me,  and  he  saw  I was  in  trouble,  and  he  got  it 
all  out  of  me,  and  then  he  took  me  home  with  him. 
He  was  a shoemaker  and  bootmaker  in  a fine  shop  of 
his  own,  and  he  took  me  into  the  business  and  set  me 
to  it  without  apprentice-fees,  and  I Ve  been  getting  on 
ever  since,  and  now  I ’in  in  the  trade  regular,  and  am 
getting  very  good  wages,  and  when  my  Bessie ’s  well 
enough,  please  God,  we  11  be  married.  It ’s  church- 
time, Nan,  let ’s  go  in  and  pray  that  she  may  soon  be 
well.” 

There  was  not  a happier  or  more  thankful  heart  than 
Nan’s,  in  the  church  that  night,  as  she  knelt  beside  her 
old  friend,  who  seemed  almost  as  if  he  was  given  back 
to  her  from  the  dead,  and  thanked  God  for  having  taken 
off  from  her  the  burden  of  horror  and  regret  which  had 
pressed  upon  her  for  so  long. 

“ I shan’t  let  Bessie  go  back  to  service  wrhen  she  gets 
well,”  said  Peter ; “ the  last  rise  in  my  wages  will  make 
me  able  to  marry,  and  you  must  come  to  the  wedding, 
Nan.  I ’ll  always  remember  that  you  nursed  my  Bessie 
for  me,  and  I hope  some  day  I ’ll  be  able  to  show  you 
I ’m  grateful.” 

N 


194 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


And  so  a few  months  afterwards,  when  Bessie  was 
quite  strong  again,  Nan  did  go  to  their  wedding,  and 
thought  she  had  never  enjoyed  herself  so  much  before  ; 
and  when  Bessie  told  her  husband  all  that  she  could 
remember  and  all  that  she  had  heard  of  Nans  goodness 
to  her,  Peter  grasped  Nan’s  hand  and  said,  “ Never  you 
feel  that  you  want  a friend  while  Bessie  and  me  is 
alive ; as  long  as  we  Ve  a home  there  ’ll  be  room  for 
you  in  it,  if  you  want  it.”  And  Bessie  kissed  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


at  |tast. 


“ Joy  is  stronger  than  sorrow, 
Peace  stronger  than  strife, 
Wisdom  stronger  than  folly  ; 

So,  all  that  have  life, 

Praise  the  Lord. 


O 


“ Truth  is  s tronger  than  falsehood, 

* Love  stronger  than  death.5 
Christ  is  stronger  than  Satan ; 

So,  all  that  have  breath, 

Praise  the  Lord.” 

— Thoughts  in  Verse  for  the  Hard-uorking 
and  Suffering. 

ISSUS,  Missus,  good  news  at  last,  good 
news  ! ” said  Nan  one  day  as  slie  came 
into  Mrs  Hilton’s  little  room ; “ Peter 
Burke ’s  found  it  out,  it ’s  a place  about  twenty 
miles  off,  a village  called  Barton,  be  says.” 

“ What  is,  child  h ” 

“ Why,  where  my  Joey  is,  and  I ’ve  got  a 
holiday  to-morrow,  and  I’m  going  to  see  after 
him,  and  I want  to  know  couldn’t  you  come?”  . 

“ 0 Nan  ! this  is  good  news,”  said  her  friend, 
and  her  face  was  as  glad  as  if  great  joy  had  come 
to  herself. 


196 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“Barton,  I know  that  name  quite  well;  and  you’re 
going  down  to-morrow  ? ” 

“Yes,  do  come.” 

“I  wish  I could;  but  the  work,  and  leaving  father 
and  mother?  My  husband  would  look  after  them  a 
bit,  it ’s  true.  N ow  he  ’s  waterman  on  the  Thames, 
he  gets  home  most  evenings,  but  there  ’s  all  the 
day.” 

“ Now,  Mary,”  put  in  her  husband,  “ you  ’ll  just  go, 
it  would  do  you  a power  of  good ; you ’ve  not  had  a 
breath  of  country  air,  not  since  I don’t  know  when,  for 
Battersea  Park  ain’t  much  of  it  for  country.  There ’s 
Mary  Anne  Smith,  we  ’ll  just  get  her  in  to  mind  the 
old  folk,  and  you  go.” 

“Oh!  missus,  do  come,  it’ll  be  just  all  right,  if 
you  ’re  there  when  I see  Joey.” 

It  was  not  very  hard  to  persuade  Mary,  for  she 
longed  for  the  country,  and  she  also  longed  to  see 
Nan’s  joy,  so  it  was  settled  that  the  friends  were  to 
meet  at  the  station  the  next  morning. 

It  was  bright  September,  and  the  brightest  of  its 
bright  days,  when  they  started,  and  Nan  looked  bright 
also,  in  her  best  Sunday  dress,  and  the  straw  bonnet 
which  she  had  got  for  Bessie’s  wedding.  She  was  sim- 
ply and  neatly  dressed  ; there  was  no  wreath  of  artificial 
roses  now  to  make  her  smart,  but  neither  were  there 
rags,  or  a greasy  bonnet,  or  slip-shod  boots ; everything 
she  had  was  strong  and  clean,  and  she  felt  that  her 


FOUND  AT  LAST. 


197 


clothes  were  honestly  earned,  and  she  was  made  happy 
in  wearing  them. 

Mrs  Hilton  could  not  help  thinking  with  pleasure 
what  a contrast  there  was  between  this  tidy,  respectable, 
and  self-respecting  Nan,  and  the  girl  whom  she  had 
brought  out  of  the  workhouse  and  had  dressed  in 
Lizzie’s  clothes. 

They  had  a pleasant  journey  to  Barton.  Nan  had 
seldom  been  in  a train,  and  was  delighted  with  the 
novelty  of  it.  The  houses  and  the  fields  seemed  to  be 
flying  past  the  train  as  it  puffed  along,  and  she  seemed 
to  see  a great  deal  of  the  world  in  a few  minutes. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  reached  Barton ; the 
village  was  a very  rustic  one,  and  was  not  spoiled  by 
being  so  near  London.  Nan  was  delighted  with  the 
pretty  red-tiled  and  thatched  cottages,  the  orchards,  in 
which  the  apples  and  pears  were  weighing  down  the 
boughs,  all  red,  and  yellow,  and  sunny  brown,  just  ready 
to  be  gathered ; the  green  common  with  the  flocks  of 
white  geese  on  it,  and  the  old-fashioned  church,  with  its 
trees  and  gray  headstones  all  around  it. 

But,  though  everything  seemed  to  make  her  happy, 
she  could  not  tell  why  it  was  so,  nor  could  she  tell 
anything  about  the  different  things  she  saw  as  she 
passed.  Her  whole  thoughts  were  given  to  the  object 
for  which  she  had  come.  She  was  to  hear  some  news  of 
Joey.  Why,  he  must  be  a big  man  now,  he  must  be 
nearly  eighteen,  judging  by  her  own  age.  Would  he 


198 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


remember  her  ? Would  he  be  more  glad  to  see  her  than 
he  had  been  the  last  time  ? 

She  and  Mrs  Hilton  asked  a man  who  was  driving  a 
waggon,  which  was  Mr  Downing’s  house  ? He  pointed 
to  one  across  the  common,  and  they  went  over  to  it,  but 
it  was  Mrs  Hilton  who  had  to  unfasten  the  latch  of  the 
little  garden  gate— it  was  Mrs  H ilton  who  had  to  knock 
at  the  green  painted  door,  for  Han’s  voice  seemed  all  gone. 
“ Is  Mr  Downing,  a mason,  still  here  V 9 she  asked. 

“ Yes,  surely,  poor  fellow,”  said  an  old  woman  who 
opened  the  door ; “ come  in,  he  s very  much  afflicted.” 
She  went  before  them  into  a room  where  a man,  who 
appeared  to  have  been  blasted  and  withered  in  the  prime 
of  life,  sat  resting  in  an  easy-chair  : his  hair  was  not 
changed  to  gray,  but  his  face  was  old,  his  limbs  were 
shrunken  and  withered,  one  side  of  him  was  helpless, 
and  when  he  tried  to  speak,  his  words  were  gibberings 
that  no  one  could  possibly  understand.  , 

“ Is  that  uncle  Paul  i ” asked  Han,  awe-struck. 

“ That’s  poor  Paul  Downing,  sure  enough,”  said  the 
old  woman;  “ he ’s  been  that  way  since  his  wife  and 
his  two  sons  died  of  the  fever,  six  months  ago.” 

“ Poor  uncle,”  said  Han ; and  as  she  looked  at  his 
helpless  form,  and  his  sad  face,  she  could  not  hate  him. 
“ What  is  become  of  Joe  Downing?”  for  the  eager 
question  could  be  ho  longer  kept  back. 

“ Eh,  what  ? ” said  the  old  woman  ; “ I ’m  a little 
hard  of  hearing.” 


I 


FOUND  AT  LAST  199 

“I  want  Joe  Downing,”  said  Nan,  in  a louder  voice. 
The  paralysed  man  heard  the  question  ; he  stretched  out 
one  of  his  thin  bony  hands,  and  began  to  gibber.  Nan 
could  not  understand  him;  she  turned  again  to  the  old 
woman. 

“ I mean  Joe,  his  nephew.” 

“ He  ’s  gone  to  be  soldier ; he  went  off  last  month.” 

Nan  looked  round  piteously  at  Mrs  Hilton,  “ Gone, 
after  all,”  she  said ; “ let  us  go  home,  I don’t  want  to 
stay  here  any  longer.” 

“ Poor  child!”  said  Mrs  Hilton;  “ but  cheer  up, 
you’ve  found  out  real  traces  of  him,  you’ll  see  him 
again,  never  fear ; but  I wonder  where ’s  Alice,  your 
cousin,  whom  you  have  told  me  about  ] 

Nan  shouted  out  the  question  to  the  old  woman. 
“His  daughter?  why,  she  be  married  and  gone  to 
Australia.  There  isn’t  a creature  left  with  this  poor  soul 
now,”  she  added,  lowering  her  voice ; “he  gets  parish 
money,  but  there ’s  no  one  regularly  to  look  after  him, 
and  he  ought  to  have  been  in  the  workhouse  long  before 
this,  only  he  do  go  against  it  so,  it  seems  as  if  that  was 
just  his  one  fear ; he ’s  quite  sensible,  and  he  writes 
down,  with  his  left  hand,  on  a slate,  what  he  wants, 
and  he  keeps  on  putting  ‘ not  the  workhouse,  please, 
not  there,  I’ve  worked  hard,  don’t  put  me  there,’  and 
then,  when  he’s  written  it,  he’ll  put  his  head  down 
and  cry  like  a baby.  The  parish  do  allow  him  well  for 
one  man,  but  there  ain’t  no  one  to  mind  him.  I’m 


200 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


here  for  a bit,  but  I ’ve  got  to  go  to  my  home,  seven 
mile  off,  next  month,  and  then  there ’s  nothing  for  him 
but  the  workhouse.” 

“ He  shouldn’t  go  there  if  he  was  my  kin,  and  I knew 
how  he  was  against  it,”  said  Mrs  Hilton,  pityingly. 
Nan  heard  her  words,  and  Paul  Downing  heard  them 
too,  and  grew  excited,  and  tried  to  talk  faster  than 
ever,  and  then  stretched  out  eager  hands  for  his  slate, 
and  wrote  on  it,  “ Who  are  you  1 Please  keep  me  out 
of  the  workhouse.” 

Nan  answered  simply,  “I  am  Nan  Downing,  I came  to 
look  for  Joey,  I didn’t  know  he  had  gone  for  a soldier.” 

Her  uncle  heard  her  name  and  grasped  her  two  hands, 
then,  growing  more  and  more  excited,  he  wrote  again, 
“Nan  Downing,  save  me,  don’t  let  them  put  me  in  the 
workhouse,”  and  as  he  held  up  the  slate  to  her  the  tears 
were  flowing  fast  down  his  cheeks. 

Nan  turned  away ; there  was  too  fierce  a fight  going 
on  in  her  heart  just  then,  for  any  words  to  escape  from 
her  ; she  went  into  the  little  garden  in  front  of  the  cot- 
tage, leaving  even  her  friend  in  the  house. 

Hot,  angry  thoughts  seemed  surging  to  and  fro 
within  her,  as  she  leaned  over  the  little  garden  gate. 
All  the  country  had  looked  so  beautiful  and  so  peaceful 
to  her  but  a little  while  before,  now  a cloud  seemed  to 
have  come  over  everything.  “ Why  should  I give  up 
everything  for  him  t He  left  me  to  go  to  the  work- 
house.  why  shouldn’t  he  go  now  h ” she  said  to  herself ; 


FOUND  AT  LAST. 


201 


“why  shouldn’t  he  ? — he  shall, — see  how  he  likes  it;  I 
am  glad,  I am  glad — yes ! I am  glad  he  has  come  to 
this  that  he  made  me  suffer.” 

Such  thoughts  as  these  came  in  a flood  at  first,  then 
they  changed ; the  soft,  pleasant  evening  breeze  blew 
over  her  burning  cheeks,  and  a strange  feeling  of 
calmness  stole  over  her  stormy  heart.  She  lifted  her 
eyes  to  the  quiet  sky;  she  watched  the  tops  of  the 
trees  waving  to  and  fro  in  the  wind  and  the  birds 
going  back  to  their  nests;  and  she  heard  the  happy 
voices  of  some  children  at  play.  She  tried  to  say  to 
herself  still  that  she  did  not  care  what  became  of  the 
uncle  who  had  been  so  unkind  to  her,  but  a voice 
within  her,  deeper  and  truer  than  the  longing  for  re- 
venge, said,  “ Poor  old  man,  I can’t  leave  him  to  go 
there  when  he  hates  it  so.  Mrs  Hilton  might  have  sent 
me  back  there  when  I was  so  bad  to  her,  and  she  didn’t. 
I don’t  know  what  to  do ; it ’s  all  in  a muddle  to  me. 
I wish  I knew  what  was  right.” 

She  went  into  the  house  again  and  her  voice  was, 
kind,  though  she  had  to  raise  it  loudly  to  speak  to  the 
paralytic  man,  who  kept  watching  her  furtively  as  if 
his  last  chance  of  freedom  and  hope  depended  on  her. 
When  she  was  going  away,  he  cried  and  shook  his  head 
pitifully. 

Not  a word  was  spoken  between  Mrs  Hilton  and 
Nan  for  some  time  after  they  left  the  house,  and  very 
few  during  the  journey  home. 


202 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


Mary  tried  to  say  something  comforting  for  Nan’s 
disappointment  about  Joey,  but  she  saw  plainly  what 
a struggle  was  going  on  in  the  girl’s  mind,  and  refrained 
from  saying  much,  and  Nan  could  not  speak  at  all. 
She  wrung  her  friend’s  hand  at  parting,  and  looked  up 
at  her  wistfully. 

“ You  know  Who  it  is  that  can  1 give  us  a right 
judgment  in  all  things/  ” was  all  that  Mary  could  say 
in  answer  to  that  appealing  look. 

The  next  evening  when  Mrs  Hilton  was  sitting  at  her 
work,  she  chanced  to  lift  her  eyes  for  a moment,,  and 
saw  Nan  coming  slowly  up  to  the  house.  The  girl 
came  in  more  quietly  than  usual,  and  did  not  speak 
for  a minute  or  two. 

“ How  do  you  come  to  get  out  this  evening  again, 
Nan'?”  her  friend  asked,  and  looked  at  her  rather 
anxiously  as  she  did  so.  But  the  look  on  Nans  face 
was  steadfast  and  quiet,  and  she  only  replied, — 

“I  came  to  tell  you  something.” 

“ Well,  my  dear  ] ” 

“ I ’ve  given  warning.” 

“ And  you  ’re  going  to  ” 

“ I ’m  going  to  take  care  of  uncle.” 

“ God  bless  you,  Nan!  you’re  a good  girl.”  The 
tears  rushed  to  Mary  Hilton’s  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

“ It ’s  not  me;  it ’s  you  that  have  done  it,”  said 
Nan,  half -laughing  and  half-crying. 

“ What  do  you  mean,  child  1 ” 


FOUND  AT  LAST. 


203 


Nan  coloured  and  hesitated.  “ Why,  I don’t  know; 
but  I kept  on  trying  to  think  I needn’t  do  it,  and  that 
I ’d  like  him  to  go  the  workhouse  because  he  sent  me 
there;  and  then  last  night,  when  I came  to  say  my 
prayers,  I thought  about  you,  and  I thought  of  all 
you ’d  forgiven  me,  and  things  you ’d  said ; and  when 
I came  to  that  bit, — 4 Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we 
forgive  them  that  trespass  kgainst  us,’  I said  it  twice 
over,  and  I meant  it.” 

“ Even  as  God  for  Christ’s  sake  hath  forgiven  you, 
that  ye  also  should  forgive  one  another,”  said  Mary, 
half  aloud. 

“ Yes,  missus,  that ’s  it,  only  I didn’t  know  how  to 
put  it  plain.  And  now  tell  me  what  I shall  do  % As 
uncle  wants  me  so  bad,  they  ’re  going  to  let  me  leave 
in  a fortnight.  I ’ve  got  a little  money  saved  up,  and 
I thought  I might  set  up  a little  shop  for  cottons  and 
tapes  and  sweets  and  such  like,  that  would  help  on  with 
the  parish  pay  for  uncle.” 

“Or  by  and  by,  you  might  get  a bit  of  washing,” 
suggested  her  friend.  “ I think  you  ’ll  be  sure  to  get 
on  some  way;  at  any  rate,  you  can  try  it.” 

“ I must  have  something  that  won’t  take  me  away 
from  him,  for  he  ’ll  have  to  be  tended  on  like  a baby. 
Somehow  I keep  thinking  and  thinking  of  his  sad  face, 
and  ail  the  talk  no  one  can  make  out,  and  I can’t  forget 
them,  and  I seem  as  if  I loved  him  now  he ’s  all  alone 
and  ill.” 


204 


A LOST  PIECE  OF  SILVER. 


“ Bless  you,  Nan ! I know  you  do.” 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  Nan  Downing  gave  up 
her  situation  and  kept  her  uncle  out  of  the  workhouse. 
She  tended  him  kindly  and  carefully,  fighting  hard  that 
no  thought  of  the  past  should  ever  change  her  conduct 
towards  him, — learning  lessons  of  patience  and  tender- 
ness by  slow  degrees, — finding  out  that  for  every  one 
there  is  work  to  do  on  this  earth,  for  the  love  of  God,  if 
they  will  do  it,  and  for  His  sake  caring  for  the  old  man 
as  though  he  had  been  her  friend  instead  of  her  enemy. 

There  is  one  more  scene  in  her  life  to  be  told.  It  is 
seven  years  later,  and  it  is  a bright  evening  in  May. 
The  trees,  instead  of  being  covered  with  autumn  colours 
of  brown  and  red,  are  fresh  and  green  with  the  spring. 
The  lilacs  are  in  blossom,  and  are  making  the  air  sweet. 
The  laburnums  have  shaken  out  their  long,  yellow 
flowers.  The  horse-chestnut  trees  have  got  t^eir  white- 
and-pink-tipped  spikes  showing  amongst'  the  bright 
green  leaves,  and  the  birds  are  singing  the  last  new 
song  which  the  spring-tide  has  taught  them. 

Paul  Downing  is  sitting  by  the  cottage  door  reading 
a newspaper.  He  looks  clean  and  comfortable  and 
well-cared  for ; and  there  is  a cheerful  smile  on-  his 
face  as  he  says  something  unintelligible  to  a woman 
who  is  standing  over  a wash-tub  close  by.  She  is  a 
strong,  working  woman,  whose  face  has  some  hard  lines 
in  it, — who  looks  as  if  she  had  been  through  want  and 


FOUND  AT  LAST. 


205 


care  and  suffering, — but  whose  eyes  are  kind  and  hope- 
ful, whose  mouth  has  learnt  to  smile  a pleasant  smile. 
This  is  Nan  Downing,  as  she  lifts  her  head  from  her 
work  and  tries  to  guess  the  meaning  of  what  the  old 
man  is  saying.  Her  uncle  is  pointing,  in  an  excited 
way,  to  the  garden-gate,  and  she  hears  footsteps.  She 
is  expecting  Mrs  Hilton  and  her  sailor  son  to  spend  the 
afternoon  with  her,  and  she  wrings  her  hands  free  from 
the  soap-suds  and  turns  to  welcome  them. 

But  it  is  not  them ; it  is  a soldier  who  is  coming  up 
the  path,— a soldier  with  a weather-beaten  face,  and  a 
bundle  'which  he  carries  on  a stick.  For  Nan,  there  is 
but  one  soldier  in  the  world, — and  this  can  be  no  other. 
She  springs  forward  just  as  she  had  done  on  that 
winterly  night  in  the  London  street ; she  lays  the  same 
hand  on  the  soldier’s  arm,  which  she  had  laid  in  such 
pitiful  entreaty  that  night  on  her  little  brother’s ; and 
the  same  , cry  bursts  from  her  lips, — “ Joey  ! Joey! 
don’t  you  know  me?  I’m  Nan.”  Only  now,  Joe  does 
not  shrink  from  her.  Long  separation,  a hard  life,  and 
the  experience  of  manhood,  have  taught  him  to  value 
the  love  which  he  had  not  understood  as  a boy,  and  he 
puts  his  arms  about  her  and  kisses  her,  as  he  says, — 
“ Thank  God  ! my  sister  Nannie,  that  I ’ve  been  pray- 
ing Him  every  day  I might  see  again  ! ” 


PRINTED  BY  BALLANTYNE  AND  COMPANY 
EDINBURGH  AND  LONDON 


§}£  ijje  same 


Second  Edition,  small  crown  8vo,  extra  cloth 
boards,  3s.  6d., 

EDITH  YEENON’S  LIFE-WOEK. 

“This  story  is  of  a religious  character,  and  is  agreeably 
written.  It  will  suit  young  readers  and  stimulate  them  to  live 
honourably.  The  incidents  are  life-like,  and  the  dialogues  never 
wearying.  Many  persons  will  see  the  work  of  a shrewd  observer 
in  the  descriptions  of  Edith’s  influence  in  gladdening  the  heart 
of  her  father.  . . . The  interest  of  the  reader  will  be  agreeably 
exercised  throughout  the  book,  which  is  full  of  healthy  religious 
teaching.” — Public  Opinion . 


NEW  WORKS  FOR  THE  YOUNG, 

Suitable  for  Prizes  or  Presents,  as  well  as  for  Sunday 
School  and  Parochial  Libraries. 


Captain  Christie's  Grand-daughter . 

By  Ruth  Buck,  Author  of  “ Pleasant  Paths  for  Little 
Feet.,,  With  Coloured  Illustrations.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth 
boards,  2s.  6d. 

Childhood' s Joy  ; 

Or,  To  be  Good  is  to  be  Happy.  By  the  Author  of 
“Rambles  at  Sunnyside.”  Illustrated.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth 
boards,  2s.  6d. 

“ Aunt  Clara’s  story  of  two  little  girls  and  their  governess  will  conduce  to 
‘childhood’s  joy,’  and  put  little  people  in  the  surest  road  to  happiness,  by 
teaching  them  to  be  good.  The  lady  exhibits  cleverness  and  literary  art.  Her 
domestic  scenes  remind  us  of  pleasant  hours  and  sweet  experiences  in  time 
far  behind  the  present,  and  Lucy  and  Florence,  the  damsels  of  the  narrative, 
are  just  such  little  girls  of  romantic  fiction  as  the  little  girls  of  real  life  like 
to  read  about.  ‘ Childhood’s  Joy  ’ has  appeared  too  late  for  the  Christmas 
and  New  Year’s  market,  but  it  is  in  time  for  distribution  with  other  offerings 
of  St  Valentine.  As  a gift  for  mysterious  presentation  on  the  14th  of  Feb- 
ruary, no  better  book  can  be  imagined.” — Athenceum. 

Cottage  Stories . 

By  Charlotte  O’Brien.  With  Coloured  Illustrations. 
Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  boards,  2s.  6d. 

Ezvin  Lloyd ; or , How  we  all  Got  on. 

By  Ellinor  J.  Kelly,  Author  of  “Francis’  Pocket 
Money,”  &c.  With  Coloured  Illustrations.  Fcap.  8vo, 
cloth  boards,  2s.  6d. 

Lucy  Helmore . 

By  Mrs  Vidal,  Author  of  “Tales  for  the  Bush,”  “Trials 
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Fcap.  8vo,  cloth,  bevelled  boards,  gilt  edges,  2s.  6d. 

“This  is  one  of  those  books  which  is  admirably  suited  for  a Sunday 
school  or  a servants’  library,  but  we  would  advise  mothers  in  easy  circum- 
stances to  let  their  own  children  read  it  before  they  give  or  lend  it  to  others.” 
— Church  of  England  Sunday  School  Quarterly . 


LONDON:  W.  WELLS  GARDNER,  10  PATERNOSTER  ROW. 


NEW  WORKS  FOR  THE  YOUNG— continued. 


The  Life  of  Christ , 

In  the  Words  of  the  Four  Evangelists.  With  Coloured 
Illustrations,  from  Drawings  by  II.  Warren.  Fcap. 
8vo,  cloth  boards,  2s.  6d. 

The  Schoolmaster  and  His  Son  : 

A Story  of  the  Thirty  Years’  War.  By  K.  H.  Caspari. 
From  the  German.  With  Coloured  Illustrations,  from 
Drawings  by  E.  H.  Courbould.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth 
boards,  2s.  6d. 

“ The  schoolmaster  himself  is  the  narrator,  and  the  quaint  simplicity  and 
grave  religious  feeling  belonging  to  the  age  and  character  are  so  well  sus- 
tained as  to  be  almost  deceptive.  It  is  a pretty  and  touching  narrative  of  a 
prodigal  son  in  wild  and  troublous  times. ” — Guardian. 

A Sunday  Book  for  Young  Persons. 

Shadows  of  Truth  ; 

Or,  Thoughts  and  Allegories,  in  Prose  and  Verse.  By 
G.  M.  C.  Third  Edition.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  boards,  gilt 
edges,  2s.  6d. 

“ It  contains  some  pleasing  allegories,  some  thoughtful  verses,  and  some 
Gospel  scenes  worked  out  in  a very  full  and  careful  description.  It  is  be- 
yond the  very  young,  but  likely  to  interest  boys  and  girls  in  their  early 
teens.” — Guardian. 

Stories  of  the  Good  Shepherd. 

A Sunday  Book  for  Little  Children.  With  Coloured 
Illustrations,  from  Drawings  by  J.  D.  Watson.  Fcap. 
8vo,  cloth  boards,  2s.  6d. 

Rambles  at  Sunny side  ; 

Or,  A Week  with  my  God-children.  By  Aunt  Clara. 
i8mo,  cloth  boards,  2S. 

An  Appropriate  Gift  to  a Godchild. 

Counsels  of  a Godfather. 

By  the  Rev.  L.  Tuttiett,  Lea  Marston,  Neatly  printed 
on  toned  paper.  Fcap.  8vo,  antique  cloth,  3s.  6d. 

“ Is  a book  of  sterling  merit,  and  calculated  to  do  a great  deal  of  good. 
It  is  professedly  designed  as  a help  to  the  spiritual  instruction  of  a young 
Christian  up  to  the  time  of  his  Confirmation  ; but  this  is  taking  far  too 
limited  a view  of  its  probable  usefulness.” — English  Chtirchman . 


LONDON:  W.  WELLS  GARDNER,  10  PATERNOSTER  ROW. 


ONE  SHILLING  JUVENILE  BOOKS. 

Forming  a Juvenile  Library  of  21  Volumes , 


All  bound  uniformly  in  extra  cloth  boards,  i8mo,  with  Coloured 
Frontispieces,  unless  otherwise  stated. 


Suitable  for  Prizes  or  Presents,  as  well  as  for  Sunday- 
School  and  Parochial  Libraries. 


A rthur  Morland . 

A Tale  for  Boys. 

“ This  volume  is  mainly  directed  to  the  correction  of  idle  boys.  It  is  a 
good  little  tale,  none  the  worse  because  the  characters  are  commonplace 
folks.  No  probabilities  are  violated  ; there  is  no  straining  for  effect.” 


Babes  in  the  Basket . 

“A  story  of  a faithful  negro  nurse,  who  rescues  two  children  of  her  mas- 
ter’s during  a rising  of  the  slaves,  conveys  them  away  in  safety,  and  supports 
them  for  a long  time  by  her  own  exertions.  There  is  something  original 
and  amusing  in  the  sayings  and  doings  of  the  poor  negro  woman,  and  her 
simple  trust  in  the  good  God  might  be  copied  with  advantage  by  many 
readers  of  this  little  work.” 


Beatrice  of  St  Mawse . 

A Story  for  Girls. 

“The  story  of  a little  girl  rescued  from  the  wreck  of  a Spanish  vessel 
and  brought  up  by  the  Rector  of  St  Mawse.  The  passionate  temper  of 
Beatrice  is  not  overdrawn,  and  forms  a contrast  to  Lillie’s  amiable  temper.” 


Bread  Cast  upon  the  Waters . 

An  American  Tale. 


LONDON  : W.  WELLS  GARDNER,  10  PATERNOSTER  ROW. 

O 


JUVENILE  BOOKS — continued. 


Childhood  of  Ada  Grey . 

By  Miss  Forde. 

“Incidents  in  the  home-life  of  Ada  and  her  sister  Mary,  whose  affection 
for  her  sister  leads  her  to  forgive  not  only  incidental  annoyances,  but  inten- 
tional unkindness.  We  should  wish  nothing  better  than  to  see  this  in  the 
hands  of  all  our  young  readers.” 


Christmas  Tree . 

A Tale  for  Young  and  Old. 

“ Nearly  all  may  learn  something  from  this  tale  in  the  way  of  charity  and 
submission  to  the  will  of  God.” 

Fiddling  Johnny , 

And  other  Fables  for  Little  Folks,  which  Great  Ones 
may  read.  With  Nineteen  Illustrations. 

“ One  of  the  pleasantest  ways  of  teaching  useful  lessons  and  moral  truths 
is  by  means  of  fables,  and  we  will  venture  to  say  that  these  before  us  will 
be  welcomed  heartily  by  the  little  folks  for  whom  they  are  intended.” 

Francie's  Pocket-Money  and  the  Curra?tt  Tree. 

Illustrations. 


Goodly  Cedars. 

A Sunday  Book. 

“ A series  of  stories  from  the  Bible,  taken  in  chronological  order  from  the 
Books  of  Samuel  and  Kings,  written  in  simple  language  for  young  children.” 


Hatty  and  Marcus. 

“ It  is  especially  suited  to  young  children,  and  shows  how  even  they  may 
be  working  for  Christ  in  the  smallest  events  of  their  daily  life.” 

Helen  Morton's  Trial. 

“ A story  of  a little  girl,  who,  after  a serious  illness,  was  afflicted  with 
total  blindness.  Many  young  readers  who  are  inclined  to  repine  at  much 
less  severe  trials  than  poor  Helen’s,  may  learn  much  from  her  patient  sub- 
mission, and  from  the  serious  yet  childish  conversations  between  herself  and 
her  friend  the  good  clergyman.” 


LONDON:  W.  WELLS  GARDNER,  10  PATERNOSTER  ROW. 


JUVENILE  BOOKS—continued. 


Jem  Morison,  the  Fisher-Boy . 

By  Ruth  Buck. 

“An  interesting  tale,  which  will  be  read  with  much  pleasure,  teaching 
that  honest  poverty  is  no  disgrace.” 

Meggie  of  the  Pines . 

“An  interesting  tale,  showing  how  just  one  seed  of  the  word  of  truth, 
sown  by  a passing  stranger  in  the  heart  of  a little  neglected  child  of  the 
forest,  takes  root,  and,  springing  up,  begins  to  bear  fruit  in  a growing 
desire  to  learn  more  of  Jesus,  and  an  earnest  endeavour  to  become  one  of 
His  children.” 

Lucy  Clarke  and  the  Two  Neighbours . 

By  Ellinor  J.  Kelly.  Illustrations. 

Orange  Seed ' 

“ An  excellent  book  to  put  into  the  hands  of  young  girls  who  have  selfish 
or  wayward  tempers  to  correct.” 

Pleasant  Paths  for  Little  Feet . 

By  Ruth  Buck. 

“ Each  of  the  little  people  make  the  paths  pleasant  by  doing  all  they  can 
for  each  other’s  happiness.  A good  example  of  what  may  be  done  by  either 
little  boy  or  girl.” 

Prayers  for  Children . 

By  the  Rev.  H.  W.  Lee. 

“Contains  morning  and  evening  prayers  for  every  day  in  the  week, 
prayers  for  special  occasions,  and  a small  collection  of  hymns.” 

St  Austin  s Court ; or , The  Grandchildren . 

“The  tale  is  useful,  showing  how  our  happiness  does  not  consist  in  out- 
ward circumstances,  but  in  the  spirit  in  which  we  receive  the  lot  which  our 
heavenly  Father  appoints  for  us.” 

Timid  Lucy . 

“ A nice  little  story  for  either  young  boys  or  girls,  as  Lucy’s  mischievous, 
teasing  brother  is  a naturally-drawn  character,  and  shows  how  very  much 
such  boys  may  wound  the  feelings  of  those  younger  and  weaker  than  them- 
selves.” 


LONDON  : W.  WELLS  GARDNER,  10  PATERNOSTER  ROW. 


JUVENILE  BOOKS— continued. 


Trials  of  a Village  Artist, 

By  Ruth  Buck. 

“This  book  we  most  cordially  recommend  for  Sunday-school  libraries, 
and  as  a most  appropriate  present  for  boys  in  any  station.  May  every 
reader  imitate  Richard  in  his  duty  to  his  father,  and,  like  him,  he  will 
never  regret  giving  up  for  the  sake  of  a parent,  even  though  his  own 
inclinations  are  crossed,  he  knows  not  why.” 


Turning-Point  of  Life,  and  Two  other  Stories . 

Full-page  Illustrations. 

“‘The  Turning-Point’  is  an  admirable  book  for  a Confirmation  can- 
didate.” 


COTTAGE  STORIES. 

Coloured  Frontispieces.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  boards , is. 

Trials  of  Rachel  Charlcote. 

By  Mrs  Vidal. 

Margaret  and  Her  Friends. 

By  Charlotte  O’Brien. 

Oliver  Dales  Decision . 

By  Charlotte  O’Brien. 

Silvermere  Annals. 

By  C.  E.  B. 

Mother  s Warm  Shawl. 

By  Charlotte  O’Brien. 


LONDON:  W.  WELLS  GARDNER,  io  PATERNOSTER  ROW. 


BY  THE  REV.  WILLIAM  BAIRD,  M.A., 

Vicar  of  Dymock,  Gloucester ; Chaplain  to  Earl  Beauchamp. 

Lectures  on  the  Prayer-Book,  in  a popular  form. 

The  Inheritance  of  our  Fathers . 

Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  boards,  3s.  6d.  ; morocco  plain,  8s.  6d. 

“ We  warmly  commend  this  book.  ...  It  should  be  circulated  by  thou- 
sands if  orthodoxy  in  tone,  catholicity  in  style,  and  acquaintance  with  a 
subject  are,  as  they  should  be,  recommendations  of  an  author.” — John 
Bull . 

“ Mr  Baird’s  book  is  one  which  merits  a wide  circulation.” — The  Church- 
man. 

The  Days  that  are  Past : 

A Manual  of  Early  Church  History.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth 
boards,  2s.  6d. 

Watching  by  the  Cross : 

Prayers,  Readings,  and  Meditations  for  the  Holy-Week. 
Royal  32mo,  6d.  ; cloth  extra,  ts. 


BY  THE  REY.  J.  ERSKINE  CLARKE,  M.A., 

Prebendary  of  Lichfield,  Incumbent  of  St  Andrew’s,  Derby. 

Common-Life  Sermons . 

Fifth  Thousand.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  limp,  2s.  ; boards, 
2s.  6d. 

“ Throwing  himself  into  the  feelings  and  ways  of  the  poor  people  of  a 
manufacturing  town,  and  especially  into  the  ways  and  feelings  of  the  young, 
with  a downright  sympathy  and  a vigour  of  speech  that  must  have  gone  a 
long  way  towards  carrying  them  with  him,  he  speaks  home  about  the  actual 
sins,  and  the  actual  wants  and  cravings  of  his  congregation.” — The 
Guardian. 

Children  of  the  Old  Testament . 

Illustrated.  Demy  4to,  half-bound,  is.  6d. ; cloth  boards, 
2s.  6d. 

“In  everyway  suitable  reading  for  the  young  of  both  sexes.” — Public 
Opinion . 


LONDON:  W.  WELLS  GARDNER,  10  PATERNOSTER  ROW. 


By  the  Rev.  J.  ERSKINE  CLARKE — continued. 


Childrens  Home  Hymn  Book . 

Twenty-fifth  Thousand.  Royal  32mo,  paper  cover,  id.  ; 
cloth,  2d. 

Children's  School  Hymn  Book . 

Fortieth  Thousand.  Royal  32 mo,  paper  cover,  id.  ; 
cloth,  2d. 

The  Mothers  of  the  Bible. 

Illustrated.  Demy  4to. 


BY  THE  KEY.  G.  P.  DE  TEISSIER,  B.D., 

Rural  Dean,  Rector  of  Church  Brampton,  Northampton. 

The  Parables  of  Jesus  practically  set  forth . 

Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  boards. 


BY  THE  REY.  JOHN  EDMUNDS,  M.A., 

Formerly  Fellow  of  the  University,  Durham. 

Sixty  Sermons . 

For  the  Sundays  and  Chief  Holy-days  of  the  Christian 
Year.  Second  Thousand.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  boards,  3s.  6d. 


BY  THE  REY.  W.  WALSHAM  HOW,  M.A., 

Hon.  Canon  of  St  Asaph,  Rector  of  Whittington. 

Plain  Words  ; First  Series : 

Sixty  Short  Sermons  for  the  Poor,  and  for  Family  Read- 
ing. Seventy-eighth  Thousand.  Fcap.  8vo  ; cloth, 
turned  in,  2 s.  ; boards,  2s.  6d. ; large  type  edition,  3s.  6d. 

“If  any  of  our  readers  wish  to  establish  the  custom  of  Sunday-evening 
readings,  we  can  cordially  recommend  them  this  little  work.  The  tone  of 
the  book  is  good  throughout ; and  the  simple,  earnest  style  in  which  it  is 
written  well  carries  out  its  title  of  ‘Plain  Words.’” — Church  of  England 
Monthly  Review. 


LONDON : W.  WELLS  GARDNER,  10  PATERNOSTER  ROW. 


By  the  Rev.  W.  WALSHAM  HOW— continued. 


Plain  Words ; Second  Series : 

Short  Sermons  for  the  Sundays  and  chief  Holy-days  of 
the  Christian  Church.  Fiftieth  Thousand.  Fcap.  8vo, 
cloth,  turned  in,  2s. ; boards,  2s.  6d. ; large  type  edition, 
3s.  6d. 

“ We  gave  a hearty  welcome  to  Mr  How’s  first  series  of  ‘ Plain  Words,’ 
which  were  upon  miscellaneous  subjects.  We  have  here  a second  series, 
with  a definite  line  of  thought,  suggested  by  the  course  of  the  Sundays  and 
Holy-days.  We  like  these,  if  possible,  better  than  their  predecessors,  for 
the  ‘ words’  are  quite  as  ‘plain,’  while  the  theology  is  more  exact.” — Eng- 
lish Churchman . 

Complete  in  one  volume,  cloth  boards,  4s.  6d.  ; morocco  plain,  8s.  6d. 

Each  series  (in  large  type)  may  be  had  in  sets  for  distribution,  price  2s.  8d. 
per  packet. 

Plain  Words  ; Third  Series  : 

Forty  Meditations  with  a view  to  the  Deepening  of  the 
Religious  Life.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  limp,  2s. ; cloth  boards, 
2s.  6d.  Just  Published . 

Seven  Lenten  Sermons  on  Psalm  LI. 

Ninth  Thousand.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  limp,  is. 

Twenty-four  Practical  Sermons . 

Ninth  Thousand.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth,  turned  in,  2s. ; 
boards,  2s.  6d. 

“ Mr  How’s  Sermons  are  good  as  well  as  cheap.  They  are  plain,  prac- 
tical, and  sound.” — Guardian. 

Pastor  in  Parochia. 

Second  Edition.  Fcap.  8vo,  cloth  boards,  3s.  6d.  ; 
antique  calf  limp,  9s. 

“ A very  useful  guide  in  Pastoral  visitation.  The  present  book,  the  editor 
modestly  declares,  is  scarcely  more  than  the  arrangement  and  publication 
of  materials  collected,  and  to  a large  extent  constantly  used,  by  him  during 
many  years ; and  he  trusts  that  what  has  been  of  practical  use  to  himself 
may  be  the  same  to  others,  especially  to  the  younger  of  his  brethren.  The 
contents  are  varied  and  numerous,  and  the  Appendix  especially  useful. 
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and  will  be  found  an  excellent  companion  to  the  clergyman  in  his  arduous 
duties.” — Church  Opinion . 


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BY  THE  REV.  LAURENCE  TUTTIETT, 

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1.  The  Fight  of  Faith. 

2.  Watching  with  Christ. 

3.  It  is  Finished. 

4.  Forgetfulness  of  God. 

5.  The  Ant  Teaching  Wisdom. 

6.  Warnings  Neglected. 

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Stanesby s Illuminated  Beatitudes . 

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i.  The  Household 
The  Household 

3.  The  Household 

ence. 

4.  The  Household 

5.  The  Household 

6.  The  Household 

Peace. 

7.  The  Household 

and  Death. 

8.  Bargain-driving. 

9.  Over-dress. 


Exhorted  to  the  Lord’s  Supper.  ^ 
Exhorted  to  Mutual  Kindness. 
Reminded  of  Mutual  Depend- 

United  in  Daily  Prayer. 

Assembled  in  the  Lord’s  House. 
Warned  against  the  Enemies  of 

Prepared  for  Sickness,  Sorrow, 

) 

> By  Rev.  J.  Erskine  Clarke. 


By  Rev. 
Laurence 
Tuttiett. 


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NEW  AND  ENLARGED  EDITION. 

Psalms  and  Hymns  for  Public  Worship. 

Compiled  by  the  Right  Rev.  T.  B.  Morrell,  D.D., 
Coadjutor  Bishop  of  Edinburgh ; and  the  Rev.  W.  W. 
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